


Inferno

by greywind (lokistarked)



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bisexual Oliver Queen, Blow Jobs, Closeted Character, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Torture, Jealousy, Lian Yu, M/M, Mutual Pining, Rimming, Slow Burn, Temporary Character Death, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 12:56:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 55,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6375634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokistarked/pseuds/greywind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“Men are so quick to blame the gods: they say</em>
  <br/>
  <em>that we devise their misery. But they</em>
  <br/>
  <em>themselves- in their depravity- design</em>
  <br/>
  <em>grief greater than the griefs that fate assigns.”</em>
  <br/>
  <em>-The Odyssey </em>
</p><p>The Queen's Gambit sinks six months earlier then it originally did; leaving Oliver stranded and imprisoned in Fyers' camp alongside Slade.  A re-write of the events that took place on Lian Yu. (AU).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Abandon All Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The main idea behind this fic is to write it as a sort of parallel to Dante's Inferno. Basically, I'm obsessed with the island plot line and I wanted to explore it in a new way. It's an AU but some things will be similar to the show. And I'm sure this goes without saying but I claim no ownership over Arrow or its characters.

_**Somewhere in the East China Sea, March 2007** _

 

The cool mist of water against his face roused Oliver from sleep despite his desire to remain in the grips of unconsciousness.  A persistent ache in his muscles and lungs pulled a groan from his lips.  Wrenching his eyes open against the salt that had crystallized and found a new home among his eyelashes, he glanced up at the sky above him squinting slightly as his vision adjusted to the light.  Oliver had no way of knowing if there would be any more storms today, but the unending blanket of steely gray clouds most likely meant there would be no sun.  That was for the best really.  The last thing he needed were extended periods of sunlight. 

He had finished the remains of his drinking water early the day before.  _Three days?  Isn’t that what people always said was how long someone could go without water?_ Oliver couldn’t be too sure of the statement’s accuracy but he had heard it somewhere before so there must be some truth to it.  It was the fifth day since the yacht had sunk.  The first day he had shared the raft along with its meager food and water supply with his father and one of the crew members.  The man had been shot by Robert the next day, body crashing back into the waiting depths of the ocean. 

Oliver couldn’t remember the man’s name even though he had been around him a number of times throughout his life.  It was something that started with an ‘D’.  _Dennis?  David_?  Oliver had spent hours later that same day trying to think of what the man’s name could have been as he relived the bullet punching through his forehead, followed by the hot spray of blood against his own face, over and over again. He had barely had time to register his father’s rushed words before Robert placed the barrel of the gun to his own forehead and pulled the trigger.  Oliver’s first reaction had been to scream.  It wasn’t lost on Oliver what a pointless action that had been at the time. 

When the shaking in his limbs had stopped and he found the will to actually process the moment he felt sick.  He couldn’t stop staring at the bloody hole in the right side of his father’s temple and the residual mess of blood and brain matter that had splattered against the side of the raft.  The lifeless eyes of Robert Queen stared off at a point in the distance and Oliver wondered what his last thought had been.  Oliver’s second action was to close his father’s eyes and cover his mangled skull with an empty supply bag. 

For two full days he had shared the raft with a corpse, not having the will to doom his father to a watery grave.  He had spent those days alternating between sleep and observing his surroundings, trying his best not to let his thoughts stray.  Today could not be any different if he wanted to keep going. 

Oliver flinched when his mind conjured the image of Sara screaming as gravity pulled her away from him into the frigid ocean.  He himself had been pulled under and had clawed uselessly at the waves, only managing to surface due to what was probably dumb luck.  He had yelled for Sara over and over until he had heard a returning shout.  It wasn’t Sara, rather it was his father who pulled him into the raft and told him Sara was gone. 

Oliver still couldn’t quite grasp that, he often times found himself looking out across the blanket of water until his eyes burned and his vision became blurry, hoping to find her among the waves.  Whereas his father’s death had been presented to him with a definite finality; the loss of Sara was elusive to him.  He realized objectively that the chances she was still alive were slim to none but nothing short of seeing her dead in front of him would quell the doubt in his mind; the doubt that whispered to him that she could still be alive, out there and waiting desperately for him to find her. 

The sinking of the yacht wasn’t Oliver’s fault but the fact that Sara Lance had been there to suffer it undoubtedly was. 

Sara had always been something more than an acquaintance to Oliver but never quite a friend.  She was the kid sister of Laurel; the woman who constantly challenged him and in his better moments inspired him.  When Laurel had suggested that she and Oliver move in together Oliver had smiled and agreed, after all if there was any girl that could bring out Oliver’s good side it was Laurel.  But later that night, after she had left to return home, Oliver instantly felt any happiness she had stirred leave him.  His smile twisted into a frown and his stomach started to churn.  _What was he thinking saying yes to that?_  

Laurel was smart and beautiful and kind, and in no way on this Earth did Oliver deserve her.  He would screw up, he _always_ found a way to screw it up.  And he would hurt her, he knew that was unavoidable.  After all it was practically his nature to act with disregard to others’ feelings, and yes Laurel was always the exception, but he wasn’t perfect.  The only thing Oliver knew in that moment was that he needed to take it back, he couldn’t commit to Laurel, at least not then. 

So, on a whim, he had pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts.  When the name ‘Sara Lance’ rolled by, Oliver hesitated.  He had never before thought he was cruel but as he tapped her name and started writing a new message he wasn’t so sure of that anymore.  It could have been any girl and yet Oliver had chosen Laurel’s sister.  When Sara responded less than a minute later Oliver smirked and quickly pushed away any feelings of guilt. 

Later, after Oliver had invited Sara along on the voyage, he had a feeling this would be the time that Laurel would finally find out about him and Sara.  Maybe her family realized she had left, maybe Sara would let something slip when she told them where she had been, and Laurel would most certainly put two and two together with her sharp mind.  She would yell, she would call him a bastard, and she would break up with him.  If Oliver was lucky some months later they would relapse back into their pattern: she would forgive him and they would get back together, acting as if nothing bad had ever happened between them.  Oliver would be absolved of having to commit to anything more serious then they’d ever had and Laurel would feel like they were going somewhere. 

Looking back on it now Oliver couldn’t quite summon the energy to be disgusted with himself but the thought was there.  His own toxic personality had been smothering any chance of having a real relationship with Laurel for years.  Day in and day out he had led her to believe he could be someone she could rely on, only to later crush that belief into oblivion with whatever stupid action he had chosen to partake in that day.  He had led her through an endless maze justifying it to himself that he was trying not to hurt her when really that was all he ever did. 

Oliver took a deep breath and attempted to steady his racing heart.  Dwelling on his guilt, dwelling on Sara…dwelling on Laurel, would only upset him.  He could no longer allow his mind to wander any further past his current predicament as he focused on the subtle rocking of the raft while it floated along its path.  His eyes drifted shut again, and he opened his dry mouth to release a shaky breath. 

The shrill cry of a gull overhead caused him to startle; sitting up suddenly, heart racing.  The raft rocked against the waves more jarringly and the body he shared his vessel with slid to the side landing close to his knee.  Oliver’s stomach churned and he swallowed hard pressing his eyelids closed.  _He could do this.  He could._   With shaking hands he grabbed the corpse that once was his father by the shoulders and re-adjusted it back into a sitting position.  Oliver tried not to think about the rigidness of its flesh or the unpleasant odor wafting from it in the gentle breeze.  He forced his gaze over the lapping waves in the distance as he finished adjusting the dead man. 

Tears welled up in his eyes and he blinked hard, breath and heart shuddering as he struggled to gain composure.  There would be no advantage to letting his grief overtake him, and Oliver wasn’t sure he could ever pull himself out of it if he did.  He couldn’t think of the hopelessness of his situation and he couldn’t dwell on what he had been through; on what he had seen.  All he could do was focus on the exact moment he was in in the present.   _Keep his emotions in check and keep his actions minimal_.  He sat back down, reclining against the side of the raft. 

As per his routine as of late, he began to concentrate on his breathing and the endless stretch of water before him.  He drifted for what was probably hours finding shapes in the clouds above him when he grew tired of observing the water.  Eventually when he decided the clouds were no longer holding his interest he returned his gaze to the ocean, only to find the usual endless stretch of water was interrupted by what was unmistakably land.  Oliver’s heart leapt in his chest and he scrambled on all fours across the short distance between him and the opposite side of the raft; the side that was closest to what looked like some sort of island. 

Without a second thought he bent over the side of the raft and began pushing his arms through the water, attempting to move it further along towards what Oliver was sure was his salvation.

 

* * *

  

Many hours later; hours that alternated between him paddling through the water and breaking from exhaustion, the raft had finally drifted close enough to the island that Oliver could jump out, the water only rising to his waist, and pull it towards the shore. When his feet finally sunk into dry sand and he had carefully pulled the raft out of the reach of the incoming tide he dropped to his hand and knees. 

Bending forward, forehead nearly touching the grains of sand, he attempted to gain control of his ragged breathing.  A cold wind assaulted his soaking body and he shivered.  For the second time that day he felt the sting of tears in his eyes but this time he didn’t fight it.  He blinked and let the drops fall into the earth beneath him.  The stunning realization that he wasn’t going to die hit him like jolt of electricity and he sat up on his knees.  Looking at the beach in front of him, the forest just beyond, and then to the clouds above him he felt a grin stretch across his tear-streaked face and he laughed breathlessly.

 Less than a heartbeat later an unintelligible shout could be heard from the trees.  Oliver stumbled to his feet and yelled back.

“Hey! Is there someone there? I need help! I need-“ his voice cut off into a fit of coughing.  He felt dizzy and weak.  Days without food and over a day without water left him with little to no energy left, and he had already spent that energy and then some in his efforts to make it to the island.  He sunk back down onto his knees.  _Surely they had heard him?_

He contemplated trying to yell again when the moments that followed his outburst were only filled with the echoes of the waves on the shore and the hollow cry of seagulls.  Before he could build the energy to shout again, though, he heard shuffling in the underbrush from the forest’s edge, shortly followed by the appearance of a man dressed in black.  Oliver practically wheezed in relief, there was someone here, someone that could save him.  The man stopped his approach about three feet from Oliver.

 “Zeige mir deine Hände! Zeige mir deine Hände!!"* the man shouted loudly, words only slightly muffled by the strange mask he wore over his face.  Oliver’s eyebrows drew together and his nose scrunched up in response.               

“What?" he huffed out.  Whatever language this guy was speaking, Oliver did not know it.  “Listen, my boat sank and I’ve been on a raft for days.  I need help, you can help me right? Do you speak English?"                

The masked man said nothing.  Instead he pulled a gun from a holster that Oliver hadn’t even noticed was attached to his hip, before he spoke again.              

“Du wirst hier sterben,"* the man muttered before pulling back his hand, the one that held the gun, and bringing it down across the side of Oliver’s head.

  

* * *

 

A sharp pain throbbed against the left side of his skull.  As Oliver slowly began to drift back into consciousness he tried not to focus on the pain or the loud, rhythmic rush of his pulse pounding in his ears.  The ground was hard beneath him and every inch of his body ached.  He clenched his eyelids together in a futile attempt to prevent waking, but his mind was already becoming clearer.  He remembered making it to an island only to very shortly thereafter be assaulted by a stranger. 

His eyes flew open and he sat up far too fast for his weakened body.  Oliver closed his eyes against his blurred vision and began breathing deeply hoping to quell the nausea quickly rising in his stomach. He lifted his right hand to bring it to his temple but the movement was halted halfway to its destination by what felt like a metal cuff on his arm.  The sharpness of his movement caused the cuff to snap harshly against the bones of his wrist and he cursed under his breath.  _That would leave a bruise._

Oliver opened his eyes and allowed his surroundings to come into focus.  The metal cuff that trapped his right wrist as well as the identical one on his left were most certainly handcuffs, but the design was bulky and crude: the bands of metal on each wrist at least three inches wide.  The cuffs themselves were attached to a thick chain which on its other end was fastened to a brace that was securely bolted to a large wooden pole.  The pole stood in the center of the tent Oliver was now in.  A few tables cluttered with various papers lined the outer edges of the tent, and sunlight filtered in through the tent’s flap. 

In the distance Oliver could make out the sounds of people walking; men shouting what sounded like orders; a peal of laughter; and then even closer, a muffled conversation.               

The tent flap was pushed open and Oliver felt a rush of fresh air wash over his skin, rousing his mind even further into a waking state.  The man who entered did not cut an impressive figure.  He was average height, and dressed very similarly to the first man Oliver had encountered, however unlike the other man, this one did not wear a mask.  Atop his head was a short wave of blonde hair and there was nothing particularly interesting about his features save for the subtle crookedness to his nose, a nose that had most certainly been broken at one point in time.  The man’s head was titled to his right as he spoke words Oliver could not hear to another man that followed him. 

The second man was far more difficult for Oliver to comprehend.  He wore the black uniform of his companions however his body was adorned in weaponry.  Oliver could make out at least two different guns and a plethora of bullets and knives strapped to the man, as well as the handle of a large sword menacingly peering over the man’s left shoulder.  Oliver tried to swallow but his tongue felt heavy as he focused on the mask the man wore.  It was simple; covered the man’s entire face save for the eyes and was two colors.  A rusty orange made up one side while the other was comprised of black.  The colors met harshly in the middle, a straight and unyielding line separating the two from each other.  Though the mask itself was expressionless Oliver couldn’t help but feel as if the thing was snarling at him, and when he locked eyes with the man behind it Oliver was even more sure of it. 

The man said nothing, just stood tall, observing Oliver.  Oliver looked away, to the other man...the man who was crookedly smiling at him.  It wasn’t a smile Oliver could return though, as the smile did not meet the man’s piercing blue eyes, rather made his features look twisted. 

Oliver looked down to the man’s feet and felt his heart start to beat faster.  He instantly regretted judging the man to be unremarkable because something told him this man would be someone Oliver feared, maybe even more so than the silent behemoth that stood behind him.  The blonde man took a few measured steps towards Oliver, hands clasped behind his back.               

“What is your name?,“ the man asked in an accent Oliver could not identify.               

“Tell me where I am.” Oliver replied tightly.  He may not be smart but he sure as hell wasn’t going to be making friendly conversation with the assholes that knocked him out and chained him up after washing up from days at sea.  The man chuckled lightly at Oliver’s response, his smile all teeth.  Oliver could tell he was not amused.               

“It appears we have another stubborn one on our hands,” the man said, turning and grinning at his companion before looking back to Oliver.  “I’m going to make things very simple. You,” he pointed at Oliver to emphasis his words, “are going to answer my questions. Truthfully, I might add, and if you fail to do so I will be forced to subject you to the persuasion of my friend here.” 

The man gestured back at his ‘friend' with a sweep of his arm. Oliver looked between the two men before settling his gaze back to the blonde.  Yeah he was pissed, but he’d be damned if he was going to let these men treat him this way. 

“My name is Oliver Queen.  The boat I was on sunk and I’m the only survivor.  _Please_ , my family has a lot of money.  If you just help me get home you will be very well compensated.  Please, _please_ , help me.”  As Oliver spoke his words rushed forward out of his mouth before he could barely contemplate them, his hands opening up in front of him, palms forward. _God, he was begging._

But he was tired, and more than anything he needed to get home.  To his mother.  To Thea. To Tommy, and Laurel (if she could ever forgive him).  When Oliver finished speaking the blonde man merely watched him, face expressionless.  After a beat Oliver couldn’t take staring into the man’s eyes any longer and he took to looking at the ground again.               

“Mr. Queen,” the blonde man began, “do you have any idea where it is you are?”  Oliver gaped at the man.               

“Um...an island…s-somewhere near China?  I mean that’s where our boat was headed and I know we were close so,” Oliver trailed off and huffed out a breath, he had no idea what sort of answer the man wanted from him and he felt at a loss.               

“We are on an island called Lian Yu.  Do you know what Lian Yu translates to in English, Mr. Queen?” The unsettling grin was back on the man’s face and Oliver tried his best to avoid eye contact.               

“No, of course I don’t.  I don’t speak Chinese,” Oliver replied irritably.                

“It means Purgatory.”                 

Before Oliver could respond the masked man stalked forward and unfastened the chain of Oliver’s handcuffs from the pole, yanking it forward and forcing Oliver to his feet.  The blonde man lead the way out of the tent and the masked man followed pulling Oliver behind him.  Oliver didn’t get to take in much of his surroundings as he was trying his best not to trip over his own feet while being practically dragged by the chain. 

Many tents were set up in a spacious clearing, and a great number of men, all dressed in black, plain black masks covering their faces milled about and watched as Oliver stumbled along through the camp.  He could hear mumbled conversations but couldn’t make out any of the words.  His forward momentum shifted abruptly as the masked man aggressively pulled the chain sending Oliver careening to the ground in front of him, elbows and knees exploding in pain as his body attempted to cushion his fall.               

“What the _fuck,_ ” Oliver groaned into the dirt.  He looked up at the masked man towering over him.  The man didn’t utter a word, rather he tilted his head ever so slightly to the side and Oliver was sure the guy was getting some sick satisfaction from watching him squirm around helplessly.  Somewhere off to his right Oliver heard the blonde man speak.               

“Mr. Queen, I won’t be able to help you get home as you so humbly requested.  But I will offer you something just as good: a new home.”  Oliver spared a glance to the man, but couldn’t fathom what he was talking about.               

“Behold,” the blonde man continued, “Your new home.”  He directed Oliver’s attention to what was in front of him, and now that the masked man had moved away from Oliver, he could see what stood there.  Directly in front of Oliver was a size-able structure made up of bamboo reeds that stood a few feet off the ground. 

It was a cage.               

The sound of uproarious laughter from the crowd of men surrounding Oliver faded out as he was lifted off the ground by the masked man and shoved into the cage.               

And as the door was securely fastened shut behind him, Oliver found himself thankful that they had at least had the decency to remove the metal cuffs from his wrists before sealing him in his prison.               

Or as the blonde man had called it; his new _home_.

  

* * *

 

Oliver was not the only prisoner in the camp.  His own cage stood within a row of identical confines.  The design of the structures were simple: four walls and a roof made of bamboo reeds that were spaced out enough so the structures were not enclosed but not far enough that it would facilitate any sort of escape.  The floor had a mat covering it but Oliver could still feel the unpleasant ridges of the bamboo reeds underneath.  One wall held the door to the cage, and it was sealed shut with chains and a padlock. 

The cages themselves were elevated from the ground by more bamboo and Oliver wasn’t sure what the purpose of that was but he decided it was best not to think about it.  His cage was not directly linked to his neighbors’, rather it stood about a foot or so away.  Currently, the cage to his left held an occupant that Oliver had not seen move yet.  The man lied on the floor of his prison facing away from Oliver, limbs curled into his body.  Oliver had thought he had seen the subtle shifts that would indicate breathing from the man a few times but he really couldn’t be sure.  The man may be dead, and no one around seemed to care.  The men who occupied the camp moved through it with no consideration for the prisoners they kept.  Oliver and the other prisoners might as well have been furniture.  

The cage to Oliver’s right was empty, and though he felt he should be comforted by that he was not.  Chances were it did in fact have an occupant at one point, if not many throughout the course of its existence, and Oliver did not want to think on what happened to those who ‘left’ this place...or in what shape they did.               

Oliver’s day was spent watching the men in the camp.  He had to get out of here and if there was any chance of success for him he knew it would only come through learning as much as he could about these men; these _soldiers_.  The camp remained rather calm throughout the day, the men carrying out menial tasks when they weren’t standing around simply shooting the shit. 

When dusk had fallen hours later, Oliver lost the will to keep his eyes open.  He had not been given any food or water by his hosts since he had arrived and he was beginning to wonder if they planned to leave him to starve to death.  A numb exhaustion settled over him and he had no qualms with the idea of letting himself slip into unconsciousness. 

In the distance, Oliver could hear a commotion: a series of shouts and then nothing.  He opened his eyes just in time to see two of the soldiers walking in his direction.  Between them they appeared to be dragging something, but in the dim light Oliver could not see what it was.  The men continued approaching the cages and when they were close enough to see more clearly Oliver learned it was not a thing they were dragging, rather it was a _who_.  Each had an arm wrapped around a bulky man with dark hair. 

The man’s feet dragged across the ground behind him and his head was bent forward against his chest.  He was not dressed in a similar fashion to the soldiers of the camp.   Instead of the usual black his pants and shirt were gray.  When the soldiers came to a stop in front of the empty cage to Oliver’s right, one of them took the bulk of the unconscious man’s weight while the other opened the cage.  Together they awkwardly man-handled the other man into the cage dropping him unceremoniously onto the floor before sealing it shut. 

“Shit, that fucker is heavy,” one of the men said to the other.  From the sound of his voice he was probably American.  

“Egli non sarà più il nostro peso da trasportare presto,”** the other replied.  The English speaking man laughed in response and Oliver wondered how many languages the people on this island knew.  The two men walked away while carrying on their bi-lingual conversation. 

Oliver looked to his new neighbor who was now sprawled across the floor of his cage. The man’s bloodied face was turned towards Oliver, giving him a good look at the damage done to the other man.  There were multiple wounds still oozing blood littered across the man’s features and his left eye as well as the cheekbone below it had swollen to twice their normal size.  Oliver could also make out large blotches of red soaking through the front of the man’s shirt and Oliver winced in sympathy. 

Clearly, this man had gotten the shit beat out of him.  He wasn’t dead though, as Oliver could see the shallow rise and fall of the man’s chest.  Oliver really, really hoped the man spoke English because whenever he woke up Oliver had about a million questions he wanted to ask…if the man woke up at all of course. 

Any earlier hopes of sleep were quickly dashed as Oliver felt suddenly very awake.  His heart rate increased and he began to wring his hands together, eyes flicking over to his new companion every few seconds.  He didn’t want to try and wake the man, because the other man had been through a specific sort of violence that would make unconsciousness a gift upon those who had been on the receiving end of it.  But Oliver was rather anxious to get answers from him.               

Oliver Queen had never been the sort of person to remain silent when he didn’t have to, and really in his world there was no time when you ‘had to’.  He had always said what was on his mind without a second thought.  After all, if someone wasn’t happy with what he had to say well that was their own damn fault for being too sensitive.  His mother had told him that just meant he lacked a ‘brain to mouth filter’ and quite possibly lacked empathy.  She always told him he needed to ‘put himself in other’s people’s shoes’ and 'be more compassionate’.  Oliver thought that was bullshit. 

But at this moment, he saw no benefit in running off his mouth while surrounded by a bunch of violent assholes.  So while his instinct was to yell and scream, threaten and complain, he knew it would have no effect on these men because if anyone in this world lacked compassion it was them.  He wondered if his mother would be proud of him in that moment, for having the common sense to shut up.  She might even say that he had grown up.  Oliver groaned, he really hated when his parents ended up being right. 

Oliver’s heart skipped a beat as he thought briefly of his father.  His father, whose body was probably left to rot on the beach. _No._   He couldn’t think of Robert at the moment he had to stay in the present. 

His thought process was derailed by the shuffling of movement to his right.  Beside him, the injured man began to wake, adjusting his head from its crooked position to face the sky before opening his eyes slightly and letting out a groan. 

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ,” the man wheezed; voice deep and tinted with an accent.  _British? Australian?_  

“Hey,” Oliver practically shouted.  He cringed at the loudness of his own voice and continued on in a hushed tone as the man tilted his head to glance at Oliver, “Hey, are you okay?  They tortured you didn’t they?  Who are those men?  What do they want?  What is this place-”  Oliver was quickly cut off by the other man.

“Kid, shut up,” the other man huffed, pushing against the mat beneath him in order to pull himself into a sitting position. 

He grunted when he had finished righting himself and let out a deep breath.  He gingerly ran his hands along his face, no doubt assessing the damage.  Closing his eyes and dropping his head down so that his chin rested against his chest Oliver could tell the man was tired.  _No surprise there_. After a minute or two of just watching the other man breath, Oliver perked up as the man began to speak again. 

“What’s your name?” he asked.  Getting a better sense of his voice, Oliver placed the accent as Australian.

 “Oliver Queen.”  

“Alright, Oliver, how’d you end up here?” the man asked wearily, looking off into the distance out of the door of his cage. 

“I was on a trip, on my family’s yacht.  There was a storm and the boat sank.  I made it to a life raft and the raft floated to this island.  As soon as I got here some psycho with a gun knocked me out and brought me here, and that blonde douche-bag and the guy with the stupid mask locked me in here.”  Oliver’s words were rushed and ran together.  He was shocked when the other man chuckled in response. 

“Why are you laughing?  There is absolutely nothing funny about what I said!”  Oliver could hear his voice get high-pitched at the tail end of his sentence.  He hated that it did that when he got upset but it’d never been a habit he’d been able to break before.  It always made him sound like he was whining.   

“Don’t get pissy with me, kid.  I just find the whole situation rather ironic. ” 

“Don’t call me kid,” Oliver demanded.  _God, when he really got started nothing could stop his bitching_.  “What’s your name, anyway?” 

“Slade Wilson.  And I call ‘em like I see ‘em.”  Slade turned away and closed his eyes letting their conversation lapse into silence.  

“Hey, do you know what’s going on here?  What is this place?”  Oliver needed answers and as a fellow prisoner perhaps Slade would be an ally to him if Oliver played his cards right.   

“There’s no way you survive this place.” Slade began; voice deep and wary.  “Honestly, I probably won’t even make it off this damned island alive.” 

“What do you mean by that? Just tell me what this place is!”  Oliver felt exasperated by their conversation, like they were walking in one giant circle getting absolutely nowhere. 

“Me giving you answers won’t do you any good,” Slade responded, a grim sort of amusement playing across his features as he looked out across the camp.  “If there’s one thing you need to know about this place, it’s that every man is out for himself.  You want to survive?” Slade paused and met Oliver’s eyes with the kind of intensity that would normally make Oliver avert his gaze.  In this instance, though, Oliver did not shy away; he didn’t blink.  He knew the next words out of the man’s mouth were going to be important so he waited, not moving, not breathing. 

“Don’t trust anyone.”    

 

* * *

  

Oliver was roused from his slumber by a persistent tapping.  He groaned and rolled over, whatever it was it really didn’t matter because he was locked in a cage and every molecule of his being ached in some way or another.  He refused to acknowledge the sharp twinge in his gut or the sandpapery feel of his mouth. _Tap, tap, tap_. 

“Kid, wake up.  They brought food.”  Oliver shot up, ignoring the other man in favor of scanning the floor of his prison.  Slade was right, just in front of the door was a shallow wooden bowl filled with something that radiated a billowing cloud of steam and next to it a cup that Oliver really, really hoped had water in it.  Oliver scrambled across the mat to grab for the food. 

“Hey, Oliver.  Listen,” Oliver ignored Slade in favor of picking up the bowl carefully, hands shaking.  “Oliver!” Slade growled. 

Oliver looked up, getting a clear look at him for the first time.  The morning light gave Oliver the opportunity to assess the finer details of the man’s appearance.  His hair was dark, nearly black, and short but still shaggy in a way that indicated to Oliver he had been stranded on this island for a while and was sorely in need of a haircut.  A full beard covered his chin and mouth which was not a surprise to Oliver, he didn’t think their captors would care very much about how well-groomed their prisoners were. 

Some of the swelling in Slade’s face had gone down from the night before but his features were still littered with the evidence of his abuse; deep cuts and purple bruises.  Slade looked ragged and weary, and very much in need of a sandwich.  If Oliver had to guess, once you looked past the injuries and malnutrition, he’d say Slade was in his late thirties. Oliver glanced down to the bowl in his hands noticing the small amount of soup or whatever it was that was in the bowl.  Well that explained why Slade appeared to be so thin but something was better than nothing he supposed.   

“Kid,” Slade’s voice brought Oliver’s attention back to the man again and he listened, “I know your instinct is going to be to finish that as fast as you possibly can, but I’m guessing you haven’t had food in at least a few days and you need to take it easy or you’ll make yourself sick.  That’s the last thing you want I’m sure, so just eat slowly alright?” 

Oliver nodded in response and began with a small sip from his bowl.  Whatever the food was it lacked any sort of flavor other than an indescribable pungent after-taste, and it was unpleasantly lumpy.  Oliver cringed in response.  _Well it certainly wouldn’t be hard to eat slowly._  He reached for his water and took a hearty swallow, very nearly moaning at the relief it brought to his dry mouth and throat.  He continued on like this for the next twenty minutes, taking careful gulps of the food followed by sips of water to wash it down. 

When he had cautiously finished his meal he felt proud that he didn’t feel sick.  Even the thought of throwing up in front of his new companion made Oliver feel embarrassed, _so_ _yeah_ , he was happy he didn’t do that.  As his stomach settled with its new contents Oliver realized he felt even hungrier than before.  _Fuck_.  Oliver sighed and looked to Slade finding that the man had been watching him.  Oliver nearly opened his mouth to speak but any thought of doing so was cut short when Slade himself spoke. 

“Oliver, I’m going to be blunt.  These men; they have no sympathy...for anyone or anything.  They are going to torture you, and when they get bored with that they are going to kill you.  I can’t stop them and you won’t be able to either.  I don’t know when Fyers will decide to start in on you, but it could be any day now.  Hell, it could even be today.” 

Oliver swallowed and futilely brushed at the dirt that had collected on the right knee of his shorts. 

“Is Fyers that blonde dickbag?”  Slade snorted. 

“Yeah, his name is Edward Fyers.  He’s a mercenary and all the men here work for him.” 

“What’s a mercenary?”  Normally in situations where Oliver was presented with information he did not understand he would nod and act like he was in the know, after all, he didn’t need to provide any further reasons for people to call him stupid when he already gave them plenty of ammunition through his actions.  In his current situation, however, considering where he was and how close his imminent and potential death was, Oliver saw no reason to pretend like he was smart. 

“It’s basically a soldier for hire.  These men will use any means they see fit to complete the mission they are hired to carry out.  It’s almost always something illegal, something no good man would do.  They have no morals or sense of loyalty.  For the right amount of money they will do absolutely anything.”  As Slade talked his voice became more venomous and by the end of his speech he was practically spitting.  The man clearly had a reason to hate the mercenaries but Oliver couldn’t help but wonder if there was something more personal behind his rage. 

“Do you know why they’re here?” Oliver queried.  Slade looked over at him in an assessing manner.  After about a minute Oliver began to fidget, brushing at his shorts again.  Soon, Slade spoke again. 

“From what little information I was given before I came here, it would seem him and his men are setting up the island as a sort of base of operations.  They are also attempting to capture a Chinese man who was imprisoned here by his government.  And before you ask why they want the man: I don’t know.”  Slade swallowed and looked past Oliver at some point in the distance. 

“And why are you here?” Oliver asked quietly.  He knew Slade had no reason to tell him anything about himself, and he was sure he wouldn’t get a response but he still wanted to know.  Slade smirked. 

“Tell you what, kid: you survive the first round of torment they got planned for you, I’ll answer that question.”  Slade settled his head back against a bamboo reed and closed his eyes, signaling the end of their conversation.  Oliver sighed and looked back down at his lap where his fingers had begun to pick at a frayed edge of his short’s fabric. 

It had not even been a week since his world had been turned upside down, both literally and figuratively, by the sinking of the Queen’s Gambit but somehow it felt like it had been a lifetime.  The boat’s crew had died, Sara had died, his father had died….and yet somehow he had not.  If Oliver believed in any sort of God he would be cursing it right now.  But he didn’t. 

Of course he had when he was a child, and that was what he was supposed to believe.  ‘Be good, or else you will face God’s wrath’.  He had followed that idea absolutely when he was very young, believing if he did something wrong or disobeyed his parents he would be struck down where he stood.  Once Oliver had grown some and begun to understand more about the world and the people in it he had dropped that notion altogether. 

Not that he believed in nothing, for surely, in such a complex universe there was some sort of higher power.  But Oliver would not allow himself to pretend like he understood what that was.  Never in his life had he been subject to taking responsibility for himself, although considering where he was now perhaps this would be his punishment for stumbling through his life never considering how his actions or words affected other people.  He knew he was selfish, he didn’t need his mother, or father, or Laurel to tell him that as they had so many times before.  But who was Oliver kidding, really? 

He didn’t believe in fate; he did not believe he was here for a purpose.  Whatever happened to him on Lian Yu, at this point, was up to the discretion of his captors.  If there were no Gods watching over them then that meant here on Lian Yu, Fyers and his men were the ultimate authorities.  And whether Oliver lived or died, suffered or bled, was completely up to them. 

  

* * *

 

Well into the afternoon Oliver sat propped up against the wall of his cage watching the camp as he had done the day before.  He had gotten used to being bored in recent days, but whereas on the raft his only companion had been a corpse, he now had Slade.  Slade who had woken from his slumber hours ago, but still remained silent all the while. 

Oliver wanted to speak to him now that he had a somewhat friendly companion to talk to but he said nothing, just occasionally glanced over at the other man.  Clearly Slade wouldn’t be answering any questions about himself and Oliver couldn’t even be mad at him for that because, quite frankly, he was lucky Slade had given him any information at all.  Being in a situation where you’re a prisoner that could be tortured or murdered at any moment made it sort of hard for you to trust other people…really Oliver shouldn’t even trust Slade, but for the sake of his sanity he needed to at this point.  He needed the hope Slade’s presence brought him, because if he didn’t have that then he had nothing.  Slade was potentially the only man who could break out of here and if he did, Oliver wanted to be escaping with him.  So trust Slade, he would, despite the man’s warning. 

Whether Slade would ever trust Oliver at all was another story completely.  If Oliver had to guess he’d say Slade was a soldier; even though he was weak from his imprisonment he radiated strength and capability.  Oh, and he had been very thoroughly fucked up by the mercenaries and hadn’t complained about his injuries once, whereas Oliver’s confident he would’ve been complaining with his every breath.  Normal people weren’t able to withstand that sort of pain and just act like nothing had happened. 

So, yeah, Slade was definitely a soldier.  Perhaps he had been sent here to put a stop to what Fyers was doing?  But would they really send one man to take out a small army?  Clearly something had gone wrong there and Oliver would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious.  _Like, really frickin’ curious._ Somehow Oliver didn’t think this was the appropriate situation for small talk, but honestly he could use some of it.  Even if they just commented on the goddamn weather Oliver would be satisfied, he just couldn’t bear the silence.  Because the silence meant you only had your thoughts to keep you company.  Nothing good would come from Oliver allowing his mind to wander.  He didn’t want to think of his family and friends who were back home, and he didn’t want to think of the family and friends he had lost.  

“I can practically hear you thinking,” Slade spoke up, voice even more gravelly than usual from disuse.  “What’s on your mind?” 

“Nothing….everything,” Oliver sighed.  Slade let out a short chuckle. 

“You know, I’ve known you for less than a day and yet I am absolutely positive you excel at brooding.  You must have been the life of the party back home.”  Slade was trying to be sarcastic, but little did he know he just said the most ironic thing Oliver had ever heard in his life.  A bubble of laughter pushed its way out of Oliver’s chest and it didn’t take long before he was laughing hysterically, head thrown back.  Slade just looked at him like he had grown a third arm.  Oliver laughed even harder. 

“Actually,” Oliver said, finally catching his breath, “I’m sort of a notorious party-er back home.  So far, I’ve dedicated my entire adult life to getting wasted as much and as often as possible.  Everybody _loves_ me.”  _Or at least they pretended to…most of them anyway._  

“Well, I would say I’m surprised, but it actually sort of makes sense.”  Slade looked like he had just figured out a particularly complex puzzle.  “You were a spoiled rich kid weren’t you?” 

“No!” Oliver huffed.  “Well…I mean, my family _is_ rich.  And yeah, yeah I guess you could say I haven’t exactly needed to work for anything I’ve wanted but- that doesn’t mean anything!” 

“Ah, yes, it all makes sense now.  Your quick temper gave you away.  It’s very easy to get a rise out of you, kid, and that’s probably because you’re not used to people telling you the truth.  You’re accustomed to sweet smiles and pretty lies, because everyone wants to make nice to someone with a lot of money.  Someone they can potentially get something from.”  Oliver couldn’t stand the know-it-all nature of Slade’s tone. 

“You’re such a dick,” Oliver replied before turning away.  He thoroughly regretted ever wishing Slade would talk to him. 

“There it is again: you’re pouting.”  Oliver glared at him. “It’s kind of adorable actually,” Slade said with shit eating grin on his face.  _God fucking dammit._   Oliver glared harder and he felt his face start to turn red.  Slade just laughed loudly and spoke again, “Oh, God, you should see yourself, kid.  If you were a kettle there’d be steam coming out of your ears and you’d be screeching.” 

“You’re the worst person I’ve ever met!” Oliver proclaimed. 

“No, Mr. Queen, I think that’d be me.”  Oliver turned to see the blonde man, _no:_ _Fyers,_ standing in front of his cage smiling.  All the amusement drained from Slade’s face and Oliver’s anger dissipated quickly.  “I’m sorry to interrupt your rather entertaining conversation, but I’d like a chance to speak with you now, Oliver.”  Fyers genuinely sounded apologetic and it made Oliver sick because he knew the man was full of shit. 

With a small wave of his hand, Fyers beckoned two soldiers forward and they approached Oliver’s cage.  Oliver remained pressed against the bamboo as far from the door as he possibly could.  One soldier made quick work of the lock, while another pulled a metal pole about the length of his forearm and a pair of handcuffs from his belt.  When the door swung open the soldier spoke. 

“Exit the cage, slowly.”  Oliver didn’t move.  The soldier who spoke reached out and took the pole from his companion.  “I’ll give you one more chance.  Exit the cage. _Slowly_.” 

When Oliver did nothing but stare at the man he pushed the pole through the open door and as it got close to Oliver he thought he heard a faint buzzing.  When the thing was jammed into his left calf muscle Oliver screamed as is whole body seized in response to the shock of electricity the pole, _taser_ , emitted. 

“Oliver, go with them,” he heard Slade say. 

“Yes, Oliver, come with us,” Fyers added. 

Oliver groaned, and sat up from where his body had curled up on the floor.  He slowly began to shuffle towards the door, and when he was within reach of the man with the taser, he grabbed Oliver by the collar of his shirt and tossed him out of his cage and onto the ground.  Oliver writhed helplessly in the dirt as one of the soldiers pulled his arms behind his back and placed the cuffs securely on his wrist.  He was then pulled up by his shoulders to a standing position.  The mercenaries flanked him as they guided him along to follow Fyers through the camp.  Oliver looked back over his shoulder, but Slade wasn’t watching them as they left.

 

* * *

  

Fyers and the other men took Oliver to the tent he had woken in the day before.  The two masked men removed his handcuffs before exiting the tent.  Oliver looked over at Fyers who had sat himself at a table near a small window in the far side of the tent.  He seemed very pleased. 

“Please, Oliver, sit,” he said gesturing to the empty chair across from him.  Oliver cautiously approached the table and sat down. 

“I’m going to offer you a choice, Mr. Queen, it’s the same choice I offer every wayward soul who stumbles across my path.  You see, I am a man of opportunity.  I pride myself in my ability to see opportunities in every situation and my ability to profit upon those opportunities.  Whether that profit is monetary or not, there is always something to be gained.  You, from what I can tell, have absolutely zero marketable skills but with what my operation here is trying to accomplish: I could always use more men, and if you have two hands and a brain you can be trained.  So, you can join me and my men, Oliver.  You will no longer be imprisoned; you will no longer be one of the uncommitted.  You will be given food, shelter, and you will not be made to suffer unless, of course, you disobey my orders.  And provided you follow your orders to the letter, and do not die here, you will receive safe passage off this island once the mission is complete.” 

Fyers gave his entire speech like he was offering Oliver a great deal on a new car.  As Oliver said nothing in response, Fyers’ fake smile dissipated and his expression turned icy. 

“Now, if you choose not to agree to those gracious terms you will be given nothing.  You will remain a prisoner, and I will personally see to it that you’re tortured regularly until there’s nothing left of you to inflict pain upon.  And then, Mr. Queen, you will be killed.” 

Oliver looked away from Fyers and stared hard at the table in front of him before finally finding his voice. 

“But why?  If I’m not helping in any way, why would you keep me around?  Why not just kill me?” 

“My men need something to amuse them.  It’s good for morale.”  Fyers was back to smiling and Oliver felt nauseous.  “So, my terms, do you accept them?” 

“No,” Oliver said sternly, looking the other man in the eye.  Fyers mouth twitched and he sighed dramatically. 

“Fine then, but remember, Oliver, you brought this upon yourself.” 

Fyers stood and walked over to the tent flap, sticking his head out to say something.  He stepped back in, allowing room for the masked man from the day before to enter the tent.  The man approached Oliver swiftly and grabbed him by the arm, yanking him over to the pole.  He secured handcuffs to Oliver’s wrists and chained them above his head and to the pole behind him.  Fyers spoke again. 

“I’d like to formally introduce you to my associate, Mr. Wintergreen.” 

Fyers turned to exit the tent but before he was gone he yelled: “Play nice!”  Wintergreen tilted his head as he stared at Oliver, and Oliver had a strong feeling that if the man was not wearing a mask he would be able to see a smile on the man's face.  Wintergreen took a step back from Oliver and reached his right hand over his shoulder to pull the sword from the hilt strapped to his back. 

“No,” Oliver said quietly, “Please, you don’t have to do this. Please, _don’t do this_.” 

He knew his words wouldn’t have any effect, but Oliver was having a hard time accepting what was about to happen.  He swallowed past the lump in his throat and felt tears well up in his eyes as Wintergreen pressed the blade of his sword firmly against Oliver’s cheek.  The metal was cold and caused Oliver to flinch in response.  As if the moments from the shipwreck forward to this one hadn’t felt surreal enough to Oliver, this moment felt like a dream he needed more than anything to wake up from. 

The stinging bite of the sword slicing his cheek open brought Oliver a sense of stunning clarity he hadn’t felt in days.  He was finally awake; only to find he was smack dab in the middle of a waking nightmare.  His heart was racing, pulse rushing in his ears, and he tried his best not to make any noise in response to the pain; Oliver didn't want to give Wintergreen the satisfaction.  He could feel the hot ooze of blood as it bubbled up from and out of his newly acquired wound.  Oliver couldn’t look at the other man, instead screwing his eyes shut and dropping his head down. 

Some strange instinctual part of him believed if he didn’t move or make a sound maybe he would just disappear, and he wouldn’t have to face what was coming.  Of course that wasn’t true, and as Wintergreen used his sword to slice deeply into his chest Oliver threw back his head and let out a scream, knowing for the first time in his life what true terror felt like. 

 

* * *

 

_Oliver stood in the middle of the makeshift dance floor as his friends, and a lot of people he had never met before, swayed around him.  The song’s beat was gentle and hypnotic as it pounded from the speakers syncing with the beating in Oliver’s chest.  His mouth was turned up in a slight grin and he couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this at ease._

_A cool breeze filtered from the open windows of the Queen mansion and Oliver thought to himself that this is where he should hold all of his parties; at home.  Although, even the thought of that was ridiculous and Oliver laughed to himself as he highly doubted his mother and father would go for that.  Over near the bar he saw Tommy and Thea: they were dancing.  Both laughed when Tommy twirled Oliver’s little sister in a circle.  Oliver felt a comfortable sort of happiness in his chest and he continued to watch the party feeling thoroughly content._

_This night wasn’t like all the ones he was used to, where he and Tommy would end up in some dark club surrounded by never-ending crowds of pulsating bodies and the unpleasant sour smell created from the mixture of alcohol and sweat.  In those situations Oliver always felt closed-in, like if he wasn’t careful he would be crushed by the people, the air, the music.  So he would drink as much as he could in order to drown the feeling before it could strangle him.._

_This night was different though; the music put him at ease and a plethora of fairy lights and candles sparkled around him, making the room feel warm.  The air was fresh and people weren’t there to pretend like they were having fun, rather they actually were.  He heard his mother’s gentle laughter and turned to see her over near the bar with his father._

_Moira and Robert were sharing what looked to be a pleasant conversation over glasses of champagne.  His mother glanced at his father lovingly as he spoke, she didn’t do that in public often in favor of remaining composed, but occasionally she’d slip and Oliver secretly loved it when she did.  If he mentioned it to her she’d blush and act embarrassed that’d he’d caught her ‘mooning over' his father as she called it._

_Around him everyone stopped dancing to stare at a large television screen on the wall.  The screen showed a reporter in Times Square and there was a countdown with only thirty seconds left flashing in the corner._

_Of course, Oliver thought, it’s New Years, how could he have forgotten?  The crowd around him began to chant together, counting down.  Oliver turned away from the screen that had captured everyone’s attention and walked to the open door in the back of the room.  He stepped out onto the empty patio, separating himself from the crowd. ‘Ten! Nine! Eight!...'  Oliver closed his eyes and just felt the wind on his face.  This would be a good year, he was sure of it. ‘Five, Four, Three, Two, One...'_

_“Happy New Year!" a chorus of voices shouted from inside._

_“Time flies, doesn’t it?"  Oliver startled at the sound of the voice next to him.  He opened his eyes to find Slade there, to his right.  The man wore a dark suit and a white shirt that was opened at the collar, a tie nowhere to be found.  Considering how Slade had last looked, Oliver had to admit the other man looked really good now.  Clean shaven, hair combed, and he no longer looked emaciated so clearly he was back to a regular diet._

_Wait, that didn’t make sense.  Oliver didn’t know this man...did he?  He’d never met him before in his life.  But he did know him, they had met in Fyers camp on the island..._

_“You got one foot in the past, kid, it’s time to think about the future," Slade spoke again.  Oliver looked back at the man to see Slade’s face was littered in bruises and what was once his right eye was now a gaping hole.  Blood poured from the wound and Oliver felt the panic clutch his chest as a choked sob fell from his lips.  This couldn’t be happening, this wasn’t real...was it?  Oliver pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes trying to erase the image of Slade, but no matter how hard he pressed he couldn’t ignore the smell of decay filling his nose and lungs._

_“No," Oliver stammered.  He heard Slade say something but he ignored it. “No, no, no!"_

"Kid!" Slade yelled.  Oliver bolted awake, heart pounding incessantly in his chest.  He gasped desperately trying to get air into his lungs but every time he tried to breathe deeply a searing pain across his abdomen and chest made him wince.

"I wouldn’t move around too much if I were you.  Your wounds need a chance to close properly," Oliver groaned and laid back down. 

He was in his cage, not at home with his family.  As his dream started to slip from his mind, suddenly becoming muddled whereas moments ago it had felt real, he recalled Wintergreen carving up his torso until he had blacked out from the pain.  Oliver continued to take in shallow breaths trying his best not to get caught up in the feelings his dream had stirred in him.  His concentration was doing nothing for him though, and his breathing started to quicken again while a hot stream of tears poured from his eyes.

“Oliver," Slade hesitated, "It's going to be okay."  But that was a lie; they both knew that.  Oliver’s panic didn’t subside at Slade’s words and he felt like he might pass out again.  He was hot and every nerve ending felt agitated.  _Nothing was going to be okay ever again_ , _he would die here_. 

He knew that for sure now.

 

* * *

 

 _“...through me you enter into the city of woes_  
_through me you enter into eternal pain,_  
_through me you enter the population of loss..._  
_abandon all hope, you who enter here."_

- _Inferno,_ Dante

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *translation (from German): "Show me your hands! Show me your hands!" ; "You are going to die here."  
> **translation (from Italian): “Soon, he will no longer be our burden to carry.”
> 
> -
> 
> A/N: Please take these translations with a grain of salt as I'm sure they're not entirely accurate seeing as I used google translate (feel free to correct me if you know the languages!). UPDATE 3/29: Thanks to Sunja for helping me correct the German translation!!!
> 
> Okay so a little info about me in case you're wondering; i'm very new to this fandom having only binged Arrow a few months ago and Slade Wilson is my all time fave. Also I love his relationship with Oliver and I'm totally surprised there's not more of a fandom for their ship but, ah, whatever. This is my first published fanfic and I'm really excited to go on this journey with you guys so I hope you like it so far!
> 
> What's next for this fic: more suffering; extremely slow burn/build up to Oliver/Slade; lots of island shenanigans. At this point i'm planning on 11 chapters, all of similar length, and i'd like to update weekly (or every two weeks) depending on my work schedule. This work has only been edited by me and my constant need to re-read it so if you find any mistakes please let me know! Thanks for reading!!
> 
> Also fun fact: the song playing during the dream sequence is 'Head Over Heels' by Tears for Fears and Slade's dialogue is taken from the lyrics. Oliver loves 80s synthpop. And angsty/emo 90s music. Just sayin'.


	2. Limbo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry about how long it took me to post an update, but life is hard and so is writing! Enjoy xoxo

The rain started to fall early in the morning, and had continued on throughout the day with no sign of letting up.  The drops pelted down heavily, the wind pushing them in inconsistent waves at the men in the cages.  Oliver was huddled in the corner of his cage, trying his best to conserve body heat.  When the rain had first started his body had started shivering and Oliver didn’t think it would ever stop considering how violent the shakes had been.  The rain wasn’t freezing but it was just cold enough to be uncomfortable.  Combined that with the cutting wind and Oliver wouldn’t be surprised if he ended up with hypothermia. 

Oliver had been naive enough to hope that the soldiers would have the decency to cover the sides of the cages seeing as the roof overhead really wasn’t doing much, after all they had checked to make sure his wounds hadn’t killed him and given him an antibiotic to prevent infection, so at least for the moment they had a somewhat vested interest in his survival, so why let the elements kill him now?  Of course, the men did nothing prevent the rain from soaking their prisoners to the bone and really Oliver can’t say he was surprised by that turn of events. 

The first few days following Wintergreen’s torture Oliver had simply wallowed in his own misery, trying not to move too much as that aggravated his wounds.  His injuries were superficial enough that they did not continue to bleed for long, provided Oliver didn’t move in a way that ripped them back open.  However, the deep, throbbing pain Oliver felt because of them was anything but superficial. 

That first morning after his torture when Oliver had woken to the dim sunrise he heard Slade say his name, but Oliver rolled over turning his back to the other man and fell back into a restless sleep.  That was the last time Slade had attempted to speak to him and Oliver hadn’t tried to return the favor.

The second day the soldiers pulled the unknown man to Oliver’s left from his cage and wrapped his body in a bag.

The third day Oliver had finally been able to properly sit up, the pain from his wounds now a dull ache, and something he could handle.  That day, along with his food, he had been given a bowl of tepid water and a worn, dirty rag.  Oliver hadn’t felt that elated since he had first seen the island from the raft, as he was finally able to wipe the caked blood and as much dirt as he could manage from his skin.

The fourth day the men came for Slade and Oliver tried his best not to watch as they marched him off in the direction of Fyers’ tent.  That night after they had finally brought Slade back, tossing his limp form onto the floor of his pen, Oliver checked to make sure the man was breathing before finally going to sleep.

The fifth day Oliver attempted to ignore the groans of pain that came from his neighbor every time the man moved.  Oliver had almost said something to him on multiple occasions but every time he opened his mouth to do so he realized there was nothing to say.  Saying anything that bordered on consoling would be patronizing, and asking the man if he was okay would be stupid because of course he wasn’t. 

At this point Oliver felt dumb for ignoring the other man as long as he had.  He wasn’t angry at Slade or anything, he had no reason to be, but after that first night of torture Oliver had never felt more alone in his entire life.  He had panicked and Slade trying in his small way to console him had only made him feel worse.  It’s not like he could’ve expected anything from the other man, Slade was in just as vulnerable of a situation as Oliver was. 

But some part of Oliver, the part that still hadn’t believed this all to be real, had wanted it to work out just like a movie: somehow, through a stroke of luck or convenient circumstance, Slade would break free in order to incapacitate the men and save Oliver from those who had captured them.    

Oliver felt embarrassed even thinking about it but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been hoping for the only sane person currently in his life to burst in and save him during his more lucid moments of being tortured.  So when that never happened and Oliver had been returned to his cage and the reality that Slade was just as helpless as he, Oliver had felt a bitter sort of despair clutch at his chest.  There would be no last minute rescue, or saving him from this hellhole; he was doomed to suffer here as much as the other prisoners. 

So Oliver had ignored Slade; because really what was the point?  The only thing he had to look forward to was torture and death.   _Excuse him if he was feeling antisocial_.

Now it was the sixth day, and Oliver was really sick of not talking to Slade.  Maybe it was the melancholia brought on by the rain, but Oliver felt the numb realization that if these were his last days he didn’t want to spend them pouting like a teenager...he’d rather spend them getting to know the other man.  At least, that would take his mind off of things.  Of course, Slade probably wanted nothing to do with Oliver but that didn’t mean Oliver wouldn’t try.

The rain had eased up a bit, and Oliver stretched out his limbs groaning at the relief he felt as his joints popped.  He heard a shift of movement to his right and Oliver turned his head from where it was propped against the bamboo to look over at Slade.  The older man was sitting upright against the back of his cage, head tilted back and his eyes closed with legs stretched out in front of him.  Oliver observed him for a bit, this being the first time he had really looked at him in days. 

The injuries on Slade’s face that Oliver had first seen the man with had mostly healed aside from a few yellowed bruises and scabbed over cuts, and it would seem in his latest time in Fyers’ tent didn’t gain him any new ones.   _To his face, anyway_.  For the first time Oliver got a clear look at the other man’s profile: he had a strong jaw and skin a couple of shades darker than Oliver’s own.  The other man was objectively handsome and Oliver couldn’t deny that everything about him just radiated _strength_. 

Oliver swallowed and averted his gaze.  He barely knew Slade and there he was waxing poetic about how ‘strong’ he was…sometimes he really was an idiot. 

Oliver sighed and began worrying his lower lip with his teeth; he really didn’t know what to say.  For all his highly publicized partying and antics he didn’t have a clue when it came to social situations.  Most of the time he relied on a false sense of confidence to navigate his way through the world, and Oliver was genuinely surprised time and time again that people fell for it.  After all, it was just an act, an act he had perfected over the years through practice and the over-consumption of alcohol. 

In reality Oliver often felt like his actions in life had no _real_ effect, and was there anything that could make someone feel smaller than that?  It frustrated Oliver to no end how the way people perceived him to be never quite matched up to how he felt he actually was, and so in time Oliver just learned to be the person they expected him to be, giving up entirely on who he _wanted_ to be. 

In times like these, when his act would prove fruitless Oliver found himself at a loss and felt well and truly awkward.  How did people relate to each other and just make effortless conversation?  Or was there no such thing as effortless interactions?  Was everyone else just that much better at pretending than himself?  Oliver didn’t like to spend too much time dwelling on his perceived faults but it seemed on the island that’s all he could do. 

Clearing his throat, Oliver decided to ask Slade the first thing he could think of.

“So, um, how long do you think you’ve been here?”  Slade cracked an eye open and looked over at Oliver.

“About a year, I haven’t been able to keep track myself, but they love reminding me of it,”  Oliver could hear the bitterness in Slade’s voice but more than anything he was shocked at how long the older man had been in this prison.

“A year? That’s, uh…that’s insane.  No offense, but why are you still alive?”  Slade had closed his eyes again, but he responded.

“I can’t know for sure, but I think Fyers expects to get information out of me.  He hasn’t gotten anything so far so he must be a truly deluded son of a bitch if he thinks I’ll tell him anything.  The bastard should’ve killed me a long time ago,” Slade sneered and then grew silent. 

The other man was clearly tired so Oliver remained quiet allowing him rest.  He felt better now that he had broken the silence, and Slade seemed amicable enough so Oliver felt relieved.  Once again Oliver was left with his thoughts but this time, instead of lamenting his faults, he chose to speculate about exactly who Slade Wilson could be.

That evening as the sun was setting another prisoner who was kept a few cages down past Slade was taken by a gang of rowdy soldiers, all of them clearly excited about something.  As they lead the man into camp, and then out of sight, Oliver looked over at Slade, puzzled.  The man spared Oliver a glance and said lowly,

“Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

The soldiers didn’t bring the other prisoner back that night and Oliver never saw him again.

 

* * *

 

Two days later, two days filled with nothing but sitting in his cage and the occasional mundane conversation with Slade, something out of the norm finally happened.  Around midday the soldiers of the camp were jarred out of their routines when they were called to mobilize by their commanding officers.  Oliver was too far from any of them to hear what was going on but it would seem it was something important. 

Slade sat up attentively, body rigid and on high alert as he paid close attention to the men as well.  They watched for almost an hour as unit after unit left camp until only a few men, men who patrolled the camp and its perimeters at regular intervals, were left behind.  Two guards were stationed around the ‘prison’.  Slade watched them intently, tracking each and every one of their movements with his eyes. 

After what felt like hours he finally broke his gaze from the men and looked over at Oliver.  Every line in his face held tension and Oliver could see how fiercely his jaw was clenched.

“Kid,” he whispered softly, obviously not wanting to draw the attention of the guards “the next few minutes are going to be very important.  Do everything I say, exactly as I say, and don’t do _anything_ I don’t tell you to do.  Are we clear?”  Oliver stared for a moment, but then quickly nodded his head. 

He had no way of knowing what Slade was going to do next but he understood from the urgency of the other man’s tone that it was going to be crucial…and might possibly lead to their escape.  Oliver sat back and awaited instructions. 

The guards alternated positions, glancing at their prisoners, the only two left being Oliver and Slade, before turning to keep an eye on the camp and the woods that surrounded them.  Slade pulled something small from the pocket of his pants and held it out in his palm giving Oliver a look at what is was: a pebble.  If Oliver wasn’t actively trying to keep the guards attention away from himself he would have groaned out loud.  _What in the world did Slade plan to do with a fucking pebble?_

But before Oliver could even flash a questioning expression at Slade, the man had already moved.  Quickly whipping his arm like he was throwing a pitch, Slade threw the pebble somewhere towards the tree line and sat back down all without drawing the attention of the soldiers.  A few seconds later the echo of it hitting the brush, or a tree, or whatever, sounded across the clearing and the two guards looked at each other.  One nodded to the other who then moved into the forest to investigate the noise.

Slade wasted no time and curled up onto the floor of his cage, just shy of the door, letting out a series of loud groans.  At first the remaining guard ignored him, but as Slade’s shouts increased in volume and distress the guard was forced to acknowledge the situation.

“Hey! You!” The guard shouted, stepping towards the cages.  “Quiet down, or I will make you quiet down!” 

The guard cocked his gun and waited for his demands to be met. 

Slade whimpered and groaned out a response, “Please, help…I-I don’t know what’s wrong…b-but it hurts.  Oh God, I-” Slade gasped in pain and grabbed his stomach. 

The man was so convincing Oliver was starting to believe that this wasn’t part of his plan and there was actually something wrong with him.  The guard took another hesitant step, lowering his gun, clearly unsure of how to proceed.

“When my partner gets back, we’ll see what we can do, but right now I need you to-”  Slade cut him off with a loud shout followed by short, heavy breaths.

“I can’t-  I can’t breathe,” Slade wheezed and Oliver felt himself start to panic.

“Help him!” Oliver shouted at the guard. 

The guard shifted on his feet but then surged forward, grabbing for the keys attached to his belt disregarding his gun entirely.  Slade continued to writhe on the floor, groaning, but when the guard was directly in front of his pen he surged up to his knees and snaked his arms through the bars; one arm looping around the guards neck and his opposite one grabbing for the keys.  In less than a second, Slade had brought the other man’s face forward, crashing into the bamboo reeds, holding his arm around the man’s neck like a vice giving him no room to move.  Slade used his other hand to relieve the man of the keys while he kept on squeezing the man’s neck. 

The guard could do nothing as he was crushed against the door of the cage other than let out soft, choking gasps, his legs flailing uselessly beneath him and his hands pawing weakly at Slade’s arms.  It took a lot longer than Oliver would have expected for the guard to lose consciousness, but when the guard finally went limp Slade let him fall to the ground with a solid thump.  He wasted no time, efficiently wrapping his arm around the bars to insert the key into the padlock, freeing himself from his cage. 

He hopped out and knelt down next to the guard, reaching for the man’s holster to take his weapon.  Slade stood and made his way over to Oliver, unlocking his cage.  He extended his hand, and Oliver took it, letting Slade help him down from the cage.  As Oliver stood for the first time in what felt like decades, he realized his legs felt weak.  He didn’t have time to worry about it though as Slade began to move, heading towards the tree line, a good distance from where the other guard had disappeared.

“Follow me, kid.”  Slade said, tone commanding.  Oliver followed.

As they made it into the forest, Slade paused, holding up his right hand most likely indicating for Oliver to stop moving as well.  Oliver halted in his tracks and Slade remained still, looking around to take stock of their new surroundings.  He put his arm down and started to walk again.

“Keep up and try to keep your steps light, we don’t want to be drawing attention to ourselves.  If we get into an altercation: stay behind me.  And if I’m compromised and you get a chance to run: take it.  The chances of them finding us right now are incredibly high, but if one of us manages to get away that still puts us at an advantage, got it?” 

Oliver nodded but then quickly realized Slade was ahead of him, so he wouldn’t see it.

“Yes,” Oliver said aloud.

“Okay, good.  Now, no more talking.”

Slade headed deeper into the forest, weaving around trees and stepping over rocks with Oliver following closely behind.  Their pace was hurried but not too much, as Oliver knew Slade wanted to be cautious of the unknown terrain and making too much noise.  Oliver tried to stay present and alert but as an hour or so passed he found his mind drifting off as it was prone to do. 

He still hadn’t quite grasped that they had escaped and he wasn’t sure what would happen next, but he sincerely hoped they did not end up captured again, despite the fact that the chances of that were high.  Oliver had only a vague concept of the size of the island, only ever seeing it from the water and not having actually traveled across it.  He had been unconscious for the journey from the beach to the camp and the only thing he knew for sure was there were mountains and trees.  The larger the island the better their chance of hiding from Fyers and his men would be.  If the island wasn’t as big as Oliver had estimated it to be than they would most likely be recaptured.  The soldiers had the advantage as they had been here for longer than a year and were familiar with the territory. 

If they did get away though…maybe, just _maybe_ , they could find a way off the island and Oliver could go home.  For the time being they’d have to find shelter though...and food.  Maybe they’d get lucky and find a cave but that still left the question of what they would eat.  Hopefully Slade knew how to hunt because Oliver didn’t have a clue about that-

“Are you purposely stepping on every god forsaken branch you come across, or are you just _that_ uncoordinated?”  Slade had spun around, stopping Oliver's progression forward.  He wasn’t quite whispering but he was intentionally keeping his voice low.  And he was clearly mad.  At Oliver.

“No, I’m just…not _accustomed_ to sneaking around in the woods, okay?”  Oliver felt himself get flustered. 

Slade was a few inches shorter than him but the man was no less intimidating for it.  After all, Oliver had watched him choke another man out very recently.  In all fairness though, Oliver really didn’t know if he was making a lot of noise or not because he had been lost in thought. 

“Sorry, I’ll try to be quieter.” 

Slade huffed and turned back around as he continued on.  Oliver followed but still heard what Slade muttered under his breath.

“Damn, kid, traipsing about like a newborn fawn.”

Oliver frowned and made sure to avoid any branches that came into his path. 

 

* * *

 

They kept walking, Slade only ever stopping momentarily to look around intently before he would pick a direction for them to go in.  They never ran into any trouble and Oliver wondered if that had to do with all the soldiers who had left camp that day.  Whatever situation they were dealing with must have been more important than going after Slade and Oliver. 

When night had fallen and darkness enveloped their surroundings entirely, Slade slowed his pace, becoming more observant of their immediate surroundings.  They came across a copse of trees, the trunks wide, roots gnarling and sprawling up out of the ground and back into the dirt.

“Here,” Slade said with finality, sitting down on one of the roots.

“Here; what?” Oliver queried. 

“We’ll stay the night here and move on at first light.”

“Yeah but there’s nowhere to hide we’re practically out in the open…what if they find us?”

“Oliver,” Slade said sternly, “We’ve been walking all day and it’s been nothing but trees so far.  This is the best cover we’re going to get and we can’t go walking through the woods with no light, it’s too dangerous.  Now sit down and go to sleep.  We’ll take shifts keeping watch.  Think you can handle that?” 

Slade's tone was snide and Oliver really shouldn’t have questioned him because the man obviously knew more than Oliver…but still, he didn’t have to be an ass about it. 

Oliver said nothing as he sat between two of the roots, leaning his back against the trunk of the tree and closing his eyes.  He fell asleep quickly, dreaming of nothing, and when Slade woke him some time later his instructions were to stay alert and wake Slade when the sun began to rise.

“Remember, kid; head on a swivel,” Slade muttered gruffly, already falling asleep. 

Oliver was sure, that knowing his own luck, now that it was his turn to be responsible for their safety something awful was bound to happen, but the night progressed peacefully despite his paranoia.  Oliver kept his attention focused as best he could as he tuned out Slade’s steady breathing into the background and listened to the noises of the forest. 

The wind swirled through the trees creating a constant sea of noise as it gently rustled the leaves on their branches.  There were distant cracks and snaps of the branches, most likely the movement of small animals moving through the brush.  Once Oliver thought he heard the hoot of an owl but it was far away so he couldn’t be sure of it.  Oliver couldn’t make out much of the forest in the dark, but the night sky was clear and some light from the moon and stars filtered down onto the forest floor allowing him to see with some detail his immediate surroundings.

The night was uneventful and a few times Oliver caught himself dozing, but he would always quickly snap out of it, determined not to be responsible for them being caught.  He couldn’t help but wonder what they would do next, Slade seemed to have some sort of immediate plan, but in the long term did he know what they should do?  It was doubtful there were any sort of inhabitants on this island other than the soldiers so it would quite literally be the two of them against the world.  Well, what currently qualified as their ‘world’ at the moment. 

The soldiers would be the only way they had off the island, it’s not like they’d conveniently find a form of communication or a boat that could save them; not if this place was as secluded as it seemed to be.  Even if Oliver and Slade managed to evade capture how long could they hide before the men found them again?  How long until they were imprisoned, or worse, killed?  And even if they somehow never got caught, what would they do?  It’s not like they wouldn’t want to try to get home and if the means were slim that meant they’d probably have to put themselves in harm’s way to try.  Really, there was no light at the end of the tunnel in this moment.  Sure, they had escaped, but where that left them was between a rock and a hard place. 

Oliver sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face, looking over at Slade’s sleeping form.  He was surprised the man had trusted him at all to take watch but Slade was only human; he needed sleep just as much as Oliver.  His wounds from his latest round of torture were most likely not entirely healed, but Slade hadn’t shown any signs of suffering during their trek through the woods. 

Oliver’s mind flashed with an image of Slade choking the guard.  In that moment Slade had been so quick and relentless that Oliver barely had time to register what had happened, but looking back now, it was frightening.  The guard could be alive or dead for all they knew but that hadn’t mattered; what had mattered what that they had escaped while they could. 

Oliver wondered if Slade had ever tried to escape before, or if that had been his first opportunity.  Somehow, Oliver couldn’t image Slade not trying to escape every chance he got.  Really, it had been perfect timing for them with most of the soldiers leaving camp, and he was glad Slade had something up his sleeve…even if it was just a pebble.  The man was truly a genius, using nothing but a rock, some impressive acting skills, and his own strength to give them the advantage they needed. 

But what Oliver recognized over everything else as being his luckiest moment was the moment Slade chose to set him free and bring him along.  It was in no way in Slade’s best interest to have a spoiled college dropout tagging along with him, but despite that the man had chosen to help Oliver...even though Oliver’s presence could only hinder Slade’s attempts to evade the soldiers and escape.  For that Oliver would be eternally grateful, and it was this act above everything else Slade had done, that let Oliver know he was a good man. 

Oliver would die before ever admitting it, but he liked how peaceful Slade looked while he slept.  Every interaction Oliver had with the man thus far had been tense or frustrating…or both.  While Slade was conscious he was a guarded man and Oliver could never read anything from him other than superficial displays of emotion.  Slade was perplexing to Oliver but when he slept his face was soft and relaxed, and Oliver didn’t have to worry about what he was thinking. 

Oliver himself often fed off the emotions of those around him; if someone else was frustrated he would become so, if they were happy he felt at peace.  To be around someone like Slade just left Oliver feeling confused most of the time, desperate to solve the mystery that the older man presented.  So, Oliver appreciated these quiet moments.

When dawn was finally starting to arrive, the birds in the trees beginning to sing and the sky lighting, Oliver shook his companion’s shoulder.

“Slade, wake up.”  Slade jerked awake, recoiling from Oliver’s touch.  He quickly shook off his reaction, standing with a grunt, and stretched his arms over his head. 

“Well, I’ll be damned…I fully expected to wake up and find you sleeping.” 

Oliver said nothing in response; he merely let out a huff of breath to express his annoyance with the other man and stood.  Slade rolled his eyes and told Oliver they both needed to ‘take care of business’ before they kept going.  Oliver did as he was told trying his best not to think about how insistently his stomach was growling as he relieved himself behind a tree. 

The last time he had eaten was when the soldiers had fed them two days ago.  Their captors never made a habit of feeding them on a regular schedule but they made sure to do it at least every few days, so Oliver was used to going without food at this point, but that didn’t make it any easier on him or any less uncomfortable.  Oliver knew Slade would probably have a plan for finding food but that plan probably came after them finding suitable shelter. 

Oliver found his way back to Slade who was looking intently in the direction of the rising sun.

“Alright, time to move,” he said, and as he began to move in a direction that led to god only knows what, Oliver followed. 

They must have only walked twenty paces before Oliver couldn’t keep quiet any longer.

“So, uh, where are we going? Do you even _know_ where we’re going?” Oliver squinted, his eyebrows furrowing unbeknownst to the older man who walked ahead of him.

“We are heading in the general direction of my plane,” Slade said simply.

“What!?” Oliver shouted, grabbing the man in front of him by the shoulder and spinning him around.  “You’re telling me you have a plane?” 

Oliver could hear his pulse rushing in his ears.  _They had a way off the island!_  Slade really should have told him this sooner but maybe he hadn’t wanted the soldiers to know and-

“Don’t get your hopes up, kid.  The plane crashed, it’s impossible to fly now.” 

Oliver could see the pity in Slade’s eyes and he wished the other man would have led with that information.

“Well, that…sucks.”  Oliver released Slade and took a step back.

“Yes.  It’s not entirely useless, however.  Depending on what Fyers and his men took, they’re might still be some supplies we can salvage.  We’ll have to be careful though, they’ll be expecting me to return there so we’re going to scout the site, wait for a window, get in there, and get out.  Understood?”

“Aye-aye, Captain!”  Oliver quipped, giving a mock salute. 

Slade frowned and muttered something unintelligible under his breath before turning around and starting to walk again.

 

* * *

 

After the better part of a day, when the sun had nearly completed its trek towards the ground, Oliver was feeling well and truly weak.  Up until now he’d ignored his hunger and the aches in his body and how much he just wanted to close his eyes for _only a moment_ , in favor of forcing his body to move forward following Slade as if on autopilot.  He hadn’t even had the energy to think about anything and at this point his exhaustion was reaching new heights. 

Inexplicably he felt jittery and on edge like he wanted to laugh and scream at the same time.  More than anything he wanted to ask Slade for a break, but he knew that was not feasible all things considered so he kept quiet despite the pounding in his chest and the rushing in his ears.

When darkness had very nearly enveloped them Oliver couldn’t remain silent any longer.

“Slade…can we stop now?  I’m so tired I don’t think I can-” but before Oliver could finish his thought Slade interrupted him.

“Kid, we’re not stopping now.  We’re close, I’m sure of it.”  The finality in Slade’s tone had Oliver swallowing his rebuttal and he continued on in silence.  By now he felt nothing other than numbness and he wouldn’t be surprised if he just fell over and died at this point. _Oh, well. Whatever._

It wasn’t until Slade repeatedly said his name that he snapped out of his fog, realizing they had stopped at a break in the trees and Slade was pointing off into the distance across the clearing. 

“We made it,” Slade breathed, clearly in relief.  He started off across the clearing and Oliver followed hoping this would finally mean he would get some fucking rest.

They were in the plane less than ten minutes as Slade sorted through the wreckage, opening crates and occasionally shoving things into a bag.  To be honest, Oliver really wasn’t paying much attention.  All he knew was that the inside of the plane was musty and damp and Oliver felt like he couldn’t breathe.  Before he knew it, Slade was ushering him out, across the clearing from where they had entered, and into the woods again. 

After another short hike, Slade picked a spot in the woods for them to stop and told Oliver to sleep.  Oliver did not respond in favor of flopping down on the ground and curling into a ball, letting his mind and body shut down almost instantly.

 

* * *

 

Oliver was awoken by the smell of something cooking and the press of sunlight against his eyelids.  He groaned and rubbed at his eyes as a sharp pain pierced his gut.  He heard someone snort and opened his eyes to see Slade sitting not far from him, holding something on a stick over a small fire.

“Good morning to you too, Jackass,” Oliver grunted, sitting upright.

“Well now, with that attitude I don’t think I’m going to share this with you,” Slade retorted, waving the stick over the fire.

“What even…is that?” Oliver grimaced at the strange lump of carcass hanging off of the stick, quite frankly it looked disgusting but the smell was enticing and Oliver was beyond hungry.

“A small mammal that had the misfortune of meeting me,” Slade grinned.  “I think it might have been a raccoon of some kind but in this part of the world I’m not very familiar with the wildlife.”

When Slade pulled the stick away from the fire he pulled off the cooked flesh and tossed a hunk of it in Oliver’s direction.  Reacting on instinct, Oliver dove forward and managed to catch the greasy lump before it hit the dirt.  Slade laughed and Oliver frowned, pulling himself off the ground.

“You’re the _worst_ ,” Oliver mumbled, but the older man was no longer paying attention to him, instead eating his share of the makeshift meal.  Oliver’s stomach churned as he looked down at the, _really gross looking_ , thing he was supposed to eat. 

Cringing only slightly, Oliver placed a small amount in his mouth and began to chew slowly.  The flavor was a bit off but Oliver shelved all reservations as his body reacted to the first solid food he’d had in God knows how long.  He was suddenly hit with how ravenous he was and ate almost too quickly, the food disappearing before he truly had time to savor it. 

He looked up to his companion to find Slade sorting through the bag of supplies he had acquired the night before.  The man pulled out a black vest and strapped it to his chest, next came a harness that allowed Slade to strap a knife to his thigh, a belt with a few different compartments, gloves, and two very dangerous looking swords that Slade fixed to his back.  Then he pulled out a sort of checkered-looking scarf that he wrapped around his neck before standing up.  Not that Slade was ever _not_ intimidating as far as Oliver was concerned, but now he was _very_ intimidating…and Oliver was now one-hundred percent sure this man was a soldier. 

“Wait,” Oliver said, suddenly realizing something, “You let me sleep all night, don’t you need to rest?”

“I appreciate the concern, kid, but I’m quite well trained in the art of not needing to sleep every night.  Besides, you clearly needed the rest.”  Oliver was surprised by Slade’s generosity but he didn’t comment.

“So, what’s next?”

“Next, we find water.  Then some hunting is in order, that food won’t tie us over for long.”

Oliver had no idea how the other man did it but it was only after a bit of walking that they came across a stream.  Slade pulled a small rubber flask from his belt and knelt to fill it with water before capping it, removing a glove, and cupping his hand to drink directly from the stream.  Oliver followed suit and gulped the chilly water, happily.  Once he has his fill he cupped his hands together, filling them with more water, and splashed it across his face.  The water was refreshing and he felt his muddled mind become a bit clearer.

Even though they had successfully escaped, at least for the moment, Oliver was having a hard time feeling any better about his situation.  Yeah, okay, he wouldn’t get tortured but he was in the middle of the woods, stranded on an island, with nothing but the clothes on his back  He had nothing going for him other than his tenuous relationship with Slade, and even that he still wasn’t sure he could rely on. 

He had no weapons, he didn’t know how to fight, and he knew nothing about surviving in the wilderness; he was completely dependent on the other man and that, he was starting to realize, frightened him.  Slade had proven through his actions that he wasn’t against helping Oliver, and Oliver trusted him to a degree but wasn’t it Slade himself that said they were all out for themselves?  There was no doubt in Oliver’s mind that if Slade absolutely had to, he would be willing to sacrifice Oliver’s safety to guarantee his own.  And really, Oliver understood.

Oliver pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind for now and looked over to his companion.  Slade had taken to washing what parts of himself that he could, splashing water over his face, scrubbing over his hair and beard.  His face had healed quite nicely at this point and Oliver took note of a few scars on his features.  If he had to pick a single word to describe Slade, Oliver would say the man was ‘wild’.  It wasn’t just the messy, unkempt nature of his hair and beard either it was the intensity of him.  Slade looked at everything with a fierce concentration, no movement unplanned, no action wasted.  He had the appearance of someone capable of great restraint and yet it was obvious he could be quite dangerous.  He had been fighting for a long time, and he would continue to do so until he died.  Oliver would hate to be one of the unlucky bastards who got in the older man’s way.

A pair of dark brown eyes were very suddenly staring right back at him, and Oliver looked away quickly.  He cleared his throat and tried to fight the blush rising on his cheeks. 

“Well,” Slade said standing, “I think it’s time we move on.  We’ll need to find somewhere to hide out until the search for us has died down, then we can head back to the plane and see what we can salvage.  Also, I think teaching you how to hunt would be beneficial.  I’m not going to be your cook; you want to eat? You’ll learn to hunt.”

“Alright,” Oliver replied, following Slade as he began to walk away from the stream. 

Oliver wasn’t very sure how good he’d be at hunting but he wasn’t against giving it a try, and if he could be useful in some way, even better.  After only a few steps a ridiculous thought struck him and a laugh bubbled up and out of his chest.

“What?” Slade inquired, looking back at him.

“Oh, nothing,” Oliver replied nonchalantly. “It’s just, I’m trapped on an island...and my only friend is named Wilson.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call us friends, kid,” Slade huffed, turning back around.  Oliver simply smiled unbeknownst to his grumpy companion. 

It was only when he experienced a piercing pain in his right shoulder, that his smile disappeared.  Oliver stopped walking and looked down.

“Why the hell did you stop moving, kid?” Slade turned around to address Oliver and when his eyes fixed on the arrow protruding out of Oliver’s chest he went silent. 

Oliver couldn’t look away from the rugged arrowhead jutting out of his skin or the dark circle of blood blossoming around it.  He was finding it difficult to breath and he didn’t hear a single word Slade shouted as the man ran past him.  Oliver’s vision tunneled and he didn’t fight it as his body fell to the ground and his mind went blank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is shorter than the last but it still came out to about 6,570 words so...Honestly, I feel like my chapters don't each need to be beasts and if I worry less about that I can hopefully get more out faster! Thanks again to Sunja for helping me with the German translation in the first chapter. And thanks to everyone for every single kudo, bookmark, comment, etc. you guys are great and this pairing is consuming me. I live for dorky, loud island Oliver...and Slade bossing him around.
> 
> Up next: Yao Fei (no duh), Oliver finally admitting he's got a hardcore crush? Slade being...Slade.


	3. Monsoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like i've found my direction here, enjoy xoxo
> 
> also there is some killing of animals in this chapter, sorry but...that happens with hunting

_Oliver held onto the railing with both hands and leaned forward, looking over at the waves below.  Today was by far the sunniest day that they had experienced while being out at sea.  The water below was a greenish-blue and Oliver wouldn’t be ashamed to admit he was fascinated by how the ocean could be a variety of different colors depending on the circumstances of the weather. He had woken up uncharacteristically early that morning but wasn’t tired in the slightest.  Sara had still been asleep and Oliver had only run into one crew member on his way to the main deck, so he had chosen to simply enjoy the solitude while he could._

_The first part of the trip had been a nonstop cacophony of drunken exploits (as much as you could get up to on a boat anyway) and sex, but today Oliver hadn’t woken up hung over or haunted by his choices…rather he felt a strange sort of peace.  His relationship with Laurel was shot at this point, and Sara wasn’t looking for anything serious so when he returned home he would start fresh; apologize to Laurel and maybe finally figure out what he wanted to do with his life.  He still wasn’t sure college was for him but at this point anything felt possible so why not look into it?  He sighed and leaned back letting the sun wash over his features, soaking up the warmth._

_“Ollie.”_

_Oliver spun at the sound of the feminine voice.  Not ten feet away from him stood Laurel.  Her dark brown hair cascaded in loose curls around her face and she had on the same white dress she had worn out to dinner with him the week before he had left on the Queen’s Gambit.  It was a beautiful dress that Laurel wore only on rare occasions, but every time she did Oliver felt his heart stop beating in his chest.  He didn’t say a word as she approached him, a caring smile gracing her lips.  When she was near enough she looped her arms around his neck._

_“Did it hurt, Oliver?” she asked._

_“What…”  Oliver tried to swallow past the dryness in his throat to say something else but she cut him off._

_“When they killed you,” she whispered sadly._

_A sudden, echoing roar of thunder erupted in the sky and Oliver looked up to see dark storm clouds churning overhead.  Lightning flashed, rain poured down in currents, and Laurel was gone.  Oliver ran off the deck and into the main hall of the yacht.  The lights on the wall flickered and his heart leapt as he caught glimpses of countless large snakes thrashing wildly in his path.  Carefully, Oliver made his way down the hall, stepping on open patches of carpet where he could in order to not disturb any of the violently hissing serpents._

_He made it to the door of his room and pushed it open, practically throwing himself inside, and shoving the door shut behind him.  He sighed in relief placing his forehead against the door.  Well, at least that was over._

_Oliver let out a sharp gasp as a pair of strong arms grabbed him by the abdomen from behind, pulling him away from the door.  Trying his best to break free from the iron grip, Oliver squirmed relentlessly but it was no use.  A deep chuckle emanated from the chest of the man behind him._

_“ **Slade**.  What the hell…let me go!”  Oliver pulled at the other man’s arms but his hold wouldn’t budge._

_“You’ve got to get yourself out of this one, kid.  I can’t do everything for you,” Slade growled in his ear._

_Oliver felt a shiver run down his spine at the warm feeling of the man’s breath against the shell of his ear.  His face flushed hotly when his cock began to harden in response and he put more effort into pulling himself away._

_Slade just laughed._

_“If you can’t save yourself, Oliver, you’re going to end up like her,” Slade mumbled before yanking Oliver in the opposite direction._

_Oliver’s gaze fell upon his bed; a bed which wasn’t currently empty.  Laid across the sheets was Sara.  She was wearing the last thing he had seen her in, her eyes staring empty at the ceiling above her.  Her wet hair fanned around her head like a halo and her skin was disconcertingly pale, a blue tinge to her lips.  Oliver's shout was drowned out by another crack of thunder and Slade prevented him from moving towards her.  Oliver started to sob and his chest ached from the effort.  He just wanted it to stop.  He just wanted the **pain** to stop..._

A deafening crash of thunder abruptly brought Oliver out of his sleep.  He was curled up near a rock in an unfamiliar cave, and struggling to breath against the searing pain in his right shoulder.  A hand reached out to steady him and Oliver pulled back looking up to the stranger before him. 

The man appeared to be in his thirties or forties and was, most likely, Chinese.  His hair, mustache, and beard were all long and his clothing was dirty and worn.  What interested Oliver the most, though, was the dark green hood the man worn and the quiver of arrows strapped to his back; arrows similar to the one currently jutting out of Oliver's shoulder.  Oliver groaned.

“Why’d you shoot me?” he asked the other man exasperatedly.  

This man was clearly not a member of Fyers’ camp and yet he’d still shot him  Did this mean there were other people on the island that wanted to kill him now?  _Great, just great._ The other man stared stoically into Oliver’s eyes before moving back to give him space and responding.

“Wǒ zhèyàng zuò shì wèile bǎohù nǐ.”*

 _Awesome_ , another language Oliver didn’t speak.  The older man said nothing further, reaching over to the side and picking up a small bowl.  He pushed the bowl towards Oliver’s face clearly expecting him to take it.

“Hē,”** he said sternly. 

Oliver grimaced at the murky gray liquid in the bowl.  The other man continued to push it towards Oliver, bringing it towards his mouth.  Oliver guessed the man wanted him to drink it but that didn’t mean he would.

After the man repeated himself, obviously not planning on backing down, Oliver snatched the bowl with his left hand and drank deeply from it.  The taste was bitter and the liquid gritty.  Oliver was so distracted by the strange drink he didn’t notice as the other man reached forward to stabilize Oliver’s injured shoulder with his left hand while his right yanked the arrow sharply out of his chest.  Oliver screamed, dropping the bowl.

“Fuck!” Oliver moaned in pain and fell over to his side. 

The throbbing in his wound had increased, and while the pain was concentrated in the area of his shoulder he felt as if it radiated throughout his entire body and his mind was starting to feel fuzzy.  He could feel the blood welling up and oozing out of the wounds the arrow left behind and it made his stomach churn.  The thunder outside was becoming less frequent but the echo of the rain bounced around the cave’s small chamber.  Oliver’s mind flitted over the possibilities of how he could have gotten here and what happened to Slade.  _Had this new man killed him?  Why hadn’t he yet killed Oliver?_

The other man knelt beside Oliver, pushing him over onto his back.  Oliver didn’t even bother resisting as the man started undoing the buttons on Oliver’s shirt.  When the man had opened Oliver’s shirt completely he pushed it open and began wiping away the excess blood with a damp rag.  Oliver let his eyes drift to the roof above him, focusing on the flashes of light that lit up the cave in short, sporadic bursts due to the lightening outside. 

After the man had finished cleaning both the entry and exit wounds that the arrow had left on Oliver he moved away to another part of the cave, leaving Oliver to drift in and out of consciousness. 

It wasn’t until an indeterminable amount of time later, when he heard a deep rumble of a voice tinted with an Australian accent, that Oliver fully awoke again.  He made to sit up only to be cut short when his shoulder felt like it was ripping apart.  Oliver plopped back onto the ground with a moan and a few seconds later Slade walked into his line of vision.

“You’re going to want to stay still, kid.”  Slade got to his knees beside Oliver and removed a bag from his shoulder.  The man was soaking wet, hair matted to his head and clothes dripping all over the cave floor.

“Where were you?” Oliver asked voice gravelly from the dryness of his throat.  Slade didn’t look up, still focusing on the bag as he shuffled through its contents.

“I was getting…this,” he said, finally pulling something out of the bag, with a large grin on his face.  In his hand he held a white plastic box with a simple red cross on the front.  _A first aid kit_?

“Where in the hell did you get that?” Olive whispered, reaching out to grab it with his hand.  Slade let him take the box as he closed up the bag and tossed it to the side.

“That doesn’t matter,” Slade said, “What matters is that we can bandage that wound, and you _probably_ won’t die.” 

Oliver heard the man with the arrows mutter something from the corner of the cave but he couldn’t make any sense of it.  Slade just ignored him and took the medical kit back from Oliver, popping it open.

The older man went to work removing his gloves and washing his hands with some water from his flask.  Using the kit, he placed gauze on both of the open wounds on Oliver’s shoulder before wrapping them with a roll of bandage.  It was over in a matter of minutes.

“I wasn’t lucky enough to find any sort of sutures but the bandage will do, I think.  Better than bleeding all over everything, anyway.”  Slade moved away from him and Oliver’s eyes drifted shut.  He was glad the older man was okay.  He wasn’t sure what he’d do without Slade.

Oliver slept restlessly that night, waking up sporadically, panting and sweating from the pain in his shoulder and most certainly _not_ from his half-remembered dreams filled with a deep, rumbling voice and rough hands.

 

* * *

 

After the first four days of sitting on his ass doing absolutely nothing but recovering from his arrow wound, Oliver decided to stop counting the days altogether.  It was becoming an unending source of stress for him thinking of how many days he had been in the cave; how many days since him and Slade had escaped from Fyers’ camp; how many days since the yacht had sunk.  At first it was an unconscious habit, to keep numbering them, but before he knew it he had let go and forgotten completely. 

So there he sat, _however many_ fucking days later, in the _goddamn_ cave, waiting for Slade and Yao Fei to return.

Slade had finally introduced Oliver to the man who had shot him the day after it had happened.  Oliver hadn’t been pleased to realize Slade was so quick to mark the man as an ally seeing as he shot Oliver in the chest.  But after some time Oliver got over it.  Yao Fei was the man Slade had mentioned he was sent to the island to find which meant Yao Fei was just as big an enemy to Fyers as they were, and on Lian Yu the more people that were against Fyers the better. 

So work together they would.  Oliver’s wound hadn’t bled in a few days and he was feeling far more energetic, but when he had asked to join the other men when they left to do recon and hunt, respectively, Slade had vehemently refused to allow it.  Oliver wasn’t above admitting he had been pouting the whole time they were gone.  He really didn’t have anything do to other than stew in his own misery.  He sighed and let his head fall back against the wall of the cave.  Oliver really hoped Slade didn’t always expect him to just sit and wait in the cave because this shit was getting old… _fast_.

Oliver started when he heard movement at the entrance to the cave.  He sat up, reaching for the knife Slade had given him but quickly set it back down when he realized it was just Yao Fei returning.  The man was carrying two small wooden cages that had some sort of birds in them.  He set one down near the entrance and brought the other over to Oliver.

“Shēngcún,” the man ordered.  Oliver felt his already agitated temper flare.

“You know I don’t speak Chinese,” he grumbled.  Yao Fei gave him a look that told him to grow the fuck up.  Oliver sighed.

“What does that mean?” Oliver asked, a silent apology in his voice.

“Shēngcún,” Yao Fei repeated.  “It means ‘survive’.”  He walked away from Oliver to the other cage he had left near the entrance.  Oliver watched as he pulled the bird out of its cage and snapped its neck.  Yao Fei looked back at Oliver and pointed to the cage sitting next to him.

“Shēngcún.”

Looking down at the bird shifting around in its cage Oliver swallowed stiffly.  He wasn’t sure he had the stomach to kill the thing

“I’m not gonna kill the bird,” Oliver huffed.

“You want eat?”  Yao Fei followed up his statement by motioning with his hands imitating the snapping of a neck. Yao Fei turned back to his own bird and began pulling its feathers, ignoring Oliver completely now. 

Oliver turned his attention back to the small bird and he felt his stomach rumble achingly.  The last time he had eaten was when Slade gave him some of the fish he had caught a day ago.  But Slade wasn’t here now and he had no idea when he’d be back.  Oliver practically cringed at the thought of having to ask Slade to kill the bird for him.  Sure, the man had given him food in recent days but Oliver had been injured and Slade probably took pity on him for it.  Now, he was mostly healed and perfectly capable of doing things for himself.  Oliver _needed_ to do this. 

Reaching out and grabbing at the cage, Oliver shifted it into its lap before opening the trap’s door.  He carefully took hold of the bird in one hand and moved the empty cage away with his other.  Closing his eyes, he gripped the bird with two hands and twisted.  He felt a small snap beneath his fingers and the birds movements ceased completely. 

“I’m sorry,” Oliver whispered to the creature, trying his best to stop his hands from shaking. 

Oliver steeled his nerve and moved over near Yao Fei, watching and imitating his actions so he could clean and gut his bird in silence.

“You want survive this place…bird not last thing you kill," Yao Fei said to him as the birds cooked over the fire.  Oliver swallowed and said nothing.

Later, when Slade returned from spying on Fyers and his men Oliver shared the bird with him, earning a small smile in response.

 

* * *

 

The rain hadn’t let up since Oliver’s first night in the cave and as he followed Yao Fei through the forest he wasn’t sure he’d ever be dry again.  Now that he was able to move around and be of use Slade had all but passed him off on Yao Fei, having the man take him hunting while he went off and tried to gather intel on the soldiers.  Oliver wished he could’ve gone with him but he knew he would probably just get them caught so he hadn’t argued. 

Now that they had Yao Fei on their side Oliver was liking their chances of survival a little better, but really they were still only three against a small army.  From the little information Slade had already managed to piece together there were at least three separate camps spread out across the island that Fyers and his men were operating.  And Slade believed there were more. 

Oliver had come to learn after a few days with their new companion that Yao Fei had been the reason all the soldiers were sent away from camp the day he and Slade escaped.  Apparently, a small group had spotted the man in the woods, reported it to Fyers causing Fyers to send almost all of his men out in pursuit of Yao Fei.  Though they never captured him, and they allowed two prisoners to escape in the process.

Ahead of him, Yao Fei stopped and bent over to pick up one of his traps.  Inside was a rabbit, shaking from the cold.  Yao Fei handed Oliver the cage to carry and they continued along. 

Oliver wasn’t entirely sure of it but he wondered if the rain and wind made it harder for Yao Fei to shoot his bow because the man hadn’t used it yet in the days since Oliver began to gather food with him.  Once they had collected three more traps, all containing birds, they made their way back to the cave to prepare and cook the animals.

Around nightfall, when the intensity of the rain outside had started to increase and the animals were roasting over the fire, Slade entered the cave throwing his bag down on the floor. 

“That smells fucking amazing,” he said, sounding tired and resigned.  Slade approached the fire and sat down on Oliver’s right, only about a foot away. 

In recent days, Slade had managed to trim his hair and beard to the best of his abilities with his knife despite Yao Fei telling him quite bluntly that the action was ‘pointless’.  The man’s face was still covered in stubble and his hair was kind of a spiky mess now, but he looked far healthier than he ever did back when they were imprisoned so Oliver didn’t bother poking fun at his somewhat unsuccessful attempt to groom himself. 

Oliver’s own hair was starting to grow in length, the ends tickling his ears and the back of his neck, and he had the beginnings of a beard.  He didn’t care about trying to get rid of it though.  If anything what he truly wanted was a change of clothes. 

The button up shirt and khaki shorts he had been wearing since the yacht were now beyond disgusting: caked in dirt, sweat, and blood.  He knew him and his companions probably all smelled terrible, but being around the scent of unwashed human was something Oliver had grown accustomed to by now so it didn’t faze him.

Yao Fei walked over to the fire and checked on the cooking animals while Slade meticulously removed his gear.  Once he had finished, he took off his outer shirt as well leaving him with just his tank top, and used the shirt to wipe the rain water from his face and hair.

Lately, when Slade wasn’t out gathering intelligence, he spent his free time doing push-ups and other various exercises.  The man’s previously waning muscle mass was slowly but surely returning and Oliver couldn’t help but stare at the firm swell of his biceps.  Slade really was quite strong. 

Oliver’s train of thought was interrupted when Yao Fei all but shoved a stick with one of the birds on it in his face and Oliver recoiled back slightly.  He looked up to Yao Fei and chose to heavily ignore the _knowing_ look the other man was giving him.  Oliver took the food and started eating it slowly.  Slade was already devouring his own bird and Oliver kept sneaking glances over at him while he ate his meal. 

He knew he shouldn’t, considering that Yao Fei had already caught him looking, but that also made him feel as if it didn’t really matter if he did.  Let Yao Fei think what he wanted, Oliver didn’t care, this wasn’t like any of the other times over the years someone had caught him staring a little too long where he shouldn’t have been.  He didn’t need to worry about the press or gossip here. 

Oliver relied on Slade, that’s all it was.  The man had been crucial to his survival so far and he would continue to be so; Oliver knew this was the most important thing he needed to remember on the island.  He cared for the other man and was happy to see him getting healthier. 

After they had all finished their share of the food Yao Fei set to wrapping up the cooked rabbit in order to save it.  When Yao Fei joined them again at the fire Slade pulled a worn map out of his pants' pocket and smoothed it out on the cave floor.  He motioned to different areas informing him and Yao Fei what ground he had covered so far (only a small fraction of the large island).  

Oliver sort of tuned him out but nodded his head as if he was listening, none of the information really meant anything to him and he was not an expert at reading maps.  When Slade mentioned an airstrip though, his attention was brought back to focus.

“I haven’t yet confirmed the location of the airfield but I’m narrowing it down.  Once I find it, it’ll just be a matter of time before we learn the guards' patterns and when the plane comes in and out.”

“Wait, they have a plane?” Oliver asked, trying to contain his excitement.

“Yeah, kid,” Slade responded, smirking at him.  “If you had been paying attention you’d already know that though.  I mentioned earlier how I overheard them discussing the supply plane. 

Oliver huffed out a breath.

“Is it my fault _this_ ,” Oliver motioned towards the map, “Is all so boring?”

“Well boring is what’s going to save your ass, kid, so I suggest you start paying attention,” Slade growled, leaning over and quite literally getting into Oliver’s face.  Yao Fei interrupted before Oliver could come up with a response.

“Nǐmen liǎng gè dōu xǐhuān zhēngchǎo lǎo liǎngkǒu,”*** he said, annoyance clear in his voice, before moving away from them both to the other side of the cave. 

Oliver raised an eyebrow at Slade but he just shook his head; he didn’t speak Chinese either.

 

* * *

 

Yao Fei released the string of the bow and with a soft whoosh the arrow shot forward and impaled the small deer grazing fifty or so yards away.  The rain had stopped the night before and they left early that morning, taking advantage of the good weather, to hunt.

“Dinner,” Yao Fei said, gesturing in the direction of where he shot.

“What?” Oliver whined, “Why can’t _I_ shoot the bow and you can pick up the bloody, dead, disgusting animal?” 

Not even bothering to respond, Yao Fei held the bow out to Oliver.  While Oliver hesitated, Yao Fei held the bow up like he was going to shoot again.

“Remember: breathe.  _Everything_ breathe.  Breathe. Aim. Fire,” he stated motioning with his arm as if it were an arrow. 

He held the bow out to Oliver again and this time he took it.  Next he passed Oliver an arrow, and as Oliver tried to get the arrow lined up correctly Yao Fei spoke again.

“Aim.  That tree.”  He pointed to a large oak about twenty yards away.  Oliver was sure he could make it.

Oliver had never shot a bow before but as he pulled back the string he felt confident he was doing it correctly.  He aimed for the tree and let out a deep breath, releasing the arrow.  Despite his best attempt, it soared far to the right and he heard Yao Fei scoff.

“Nǐ huì sǐ yánzhòng.”

“What does that mean?” Oliver asked with a sigh.

“You will die, badly.”

“Get,” Yao Fei ordered pointing in the direction of the lost arrow.  Oliver opened his mouth to complain but Yao Fei just gave him a look that said if he did he would pay for it, so Oliver moved through the brush to retrieve it.

He made it to the area the arrow had landed and looked around.  Right when he spotted it near the edge of a rock he heard movement behind him.  Turning around Oliver saw three soldiers move out from behind the trees to circle around Yao Fei, their guns raised.  A fourth soldier approached but he had no gun and he wore a very distinct mask: orange and black.  _Wintergreen_.  Oliver sucked in a breath sharply and his stomach twisted into a knot.  He took a hesitant step back but stopped.  He couldn’t just leave Yao Fei…

But Yao Fei wouldn’t be taken down easily.  His body twisted as he twirled and kicked Wintergreen across the face.  Wintergreen engaged, pulling out his sword, and soon the two were fighting in a flurry of movement Oliver could hardly keep up with.  The other soldiers simply watched the action as they hadn’t yet noticed Oliver but during a break in the fight, when Yao Fei had knocked Wintergreen back onto the ground, Yao Fei yelled in his direction.

“Run!”

Suddenly the focus of all three of the other soldiers was on him, and as Yao Fei was knocked unconscious by Wintergreen, Oliver spun on his heel and sprinted full out in the opposite direction.  He had no idea where he was headed but he needed to get as far away as he possibly could.  

 

* * *

 

Oliver plopped onto a leafy patch of ground and took a moment to catch his breath.  He had been running on and off for the better part of an hour and there was no sign that anyone had managed to pursue him this far.  Even though he was feeling weak and sweating from his exertion the wind cut sharply at his skin and it had begun to drizzle rain again.  He was _cold_.

He had absolutely no idea what his next move would be because he had absolutely no idea where he was.  Oliver supposed he could try and head back the way he’d come but he had been so concentrated on getting away as fast as he could he wasn’t sure he had moved in a straight line.  And besides, there were probably more men searching for him now.  He could only hope Slade would notice them before they noticed him and that he would manage to get away.  Oliver needed to find Slade.  They needed to rescue Yao Fei.

Against his better judgment Oliver gathered a small assortment of twigs and leaves and used them to light a fire.  The task was long and laborious but eventually a small flame blossomed from the kindling and Oliver tried to soak up as much of its warmth as he could.

A shifting of movement in the underbrush behind him caused him to turn around sharply.  From his position Oliver couldn’t see anything but the sounds of movement continued.  _Walking_.  Oliver stamped out the tiny fire as best he could and stood up, quietly moving over to the left to hide behind a wide tree trunk.  Peering around the edge of it, Oliver saw a soldier getting closer.  When the man was about ten feet away he stopped and took stock of his surroundings.  Oliver carefully pulled Slade’s knife out of his pocket and tried to steady his heartbeat.

The soldier walked forward and bent down next to the still smoking leaves.  He got up quickly and began to check the immediate area.  When he approached Oliver’s tree, Oliver took a deep breath, remembering what Yao Fei had said about the animals not being the only things he’d have to kill.

When the soldier was close enough Oliver jumped out from behind the tree and tried stabbing in his general direction.  His attempt at an attack failed horribly as the man shoved Oliver’s arm to the side like he was batting away a gnat, and grabbed Oliver.  Oliver tried punching the man in return and as they awkwardly grappled for control, Oliver was pushed backwards.  After a few feet he lost his footing and tripped, taking the other man with him.

They rolled across the ground and just when Oliver thought it might be over, he felt a sudden jolt as his and the other man’s bodies were tossed over the edge of a steep incline.  The next few seconds were a whirlwind of motion that ended with a sharp echoing crack and Oliver being submerged in water.

Oliver thrashed, trying to get his bearings, and when he surfaced he sucked in a huge gulp of air.  His hair blocked his view, so he pushed it out of his eyes and rubbed away the water.  He had landed in a river and directly in front of him a massive boulder stoop up, out of the water.  Splayed across it was the soldier; his back was bowed at an unnatural angle over the rock and he wasn’t moving, wasn’t breathing.

As Oliver stood up, approaching the dead soldier, an idea began forming in his head.

_A dangerous idea._

But if it worked?  He could save Yao Fei.

 

* * *

 

When Oliver had managed to stumble across one of the soldiers’ camps, wearing the uniform and mask he had stolen from the dead man, before nightfall that very same day he had counted himself as lucky.

However, when he had ended up in a jeep with none other than Fyers himself he no longer felt as if he was experiencing luck.  Rather, it was more of a horrifying sort of irony.

So it was no surprise to Oliver that when they arrived at the camp he had been imprisoned in, and he was led to the cages that were empty of anyone he knew, Fyers revealed he was very much aware of who Oliver was.

What did come as a surprise was Yao Fei dressed in the soldiers' uniform, standing beside them in camaraderie, and saying nothing as Oliver was locked back up in the prison he was hoping to never return to again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again with the translations I used google translate, so if you are familiar with Chinese and want to correct me on any of them please do!
> 
> * translation: I did it to protect you.  
> ** translation: Drink.  
> *** translation: You two are bickering like an old married couple.
> 
> Okay so I know at this point it's not hugely getting away from the canon but parts of the next chapter and then beginning in chapter five is where I really want to start pulling it into a different direction. There will still be similar elements to the show (cough the odyssey aka the greatest arrow ep of all time cough) but i want to put my own spin on it all.
> 
> Yeah, I know, this chapter had a disappointing lack of Slade :(
> 
> Up next: Oliver finally admits to himself that he's not straight? *GASP*, lots of not fun times for Oliver, some time jumping!, a....HUG!?!?
> 
> also this will become more explicit....later...much later...gotta have that slow burn...


	4. Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit different than the rest and you'll see why...
> 
>  **IMPORTANT:** The whole warning for referenced torture is updated to actual 'Torture' to reflect the fact there is indeed a torture scene in this chapter so please heed that warning, friends!

The numbness felt as if it had settled into Oliver’s bones. 

A while back the weather had taken a nasty turn, temperatures dropping drastically; leaving no inkling they would return to what they were.  The soldier’s uniform that Oliver now wore provided much more warmth than his previous attire, but considering the frigid chill of the air it really didn’t mean much. 

Pressing his limbs more into himself as he laid curled in a ball on the floor of his cage, Oliver watched as his breath fogged in the air in front of him.  A violent shiver wracked his body. 

If you asked him what was worse, the bouts of shakes or the complete lack of sensation he often experienced, he wouldn’t be able to answer.  They were both terrible in their own way.

Oliver’s unfocused gaze landed on the weave of the mat below his face.  He studied the pattern, making note of the different shades and sizes of the straw that had been woven together to create it.

Unbidden, a memory surfaced in Oliver’s mind. 

Oliver was still a teenager and his family had been on vacation.  They had gone to the beach to enjoy the sun and sand, and little Thea had been obsessed with a straw hat her father had bought her from a vendor on the boardwalk. 

As soon as they set up on the beach the hat had been blown up and off his little sister’s head and started tumbling through the sand.  Oliver had chased the thing, hoping to stop Thea’s tears but as another strong gust of hot air pushed past, the hat was taken out over the water, and Oliver was unable to retrieve it.

Moira had tried to mollify her saddened daughter, saying they could buy a new one. 

But Thea didn’t want a new one she wanted _that_ one. 

Oliver spent the rest of the day feeling guilty even though Thea had quickly moved on, caught up in making a sandcastle.

Oliver wondered why it had bothered him so much; not being able to save the hat.  After the initial tantrum Thea hadn’t cared, so why had it ruined his entire day?

It was an odd thought to have in that moment, but Oliver found himself wishing he could go back; to return to that moment in particular. 

He just wanted to go back.

 

* * *

 

A soft whimper escaped Oliver’s lips as he bent his head down against his chest.  His eyes were clenched tightly shut but the tears still managed to escape, running down his face and dripping onto his bare chest.  He tried to get his labored breathing under control but failed as he let out another wail at the press of the hot iron against the flesh of his back.

Oliver had thought that when Wintergreen had finished a particularly long session of nearly drowning him time and time again; bringing him to the brink but never quite letting him lose consciousness, that his torment would be over for the day.

He had been very, _very_ wrong.

After the water, Wintergreen brought out a rusty and jagged iron pole.  He had placed the pole in the fire of a tiny wood-burning stove that stood in the corner of the tent and waited.  When he finally took the pole back out of the fire he pressed it against the tender flesh below Oliver’s navel and Oliver had screamed wildly, trying to recoil but not being able to move from where he was hung up against the tent pole.

When the heat had dissipated and Wintergreen pulled the iron away Oliver could feel his burnt flesh rip and he inhaled sharply at the sensation.  Wintergreen returned the pole to the fire and waited again, staring at Oliver all the while.

He had repeated his actions numerous times and Oliver wondered how many new scars he would have now; wondered when the horrible burning would end; wondered if this was what would finally kill him.

Oliver’s breathing had steadied along with his heartbeat after a time. 

Wintergreen hadn’t touched him in a long while but Oliver wouldn’t be surprised if he was just thinking of a new way to hurt him, or simply hoping to surprise Oliver with another press of the iron.

The tent flap opened and Fyers walked in, stopping a few inches in front of Oliver’s dangling form.

“So, Mr. Queen,” he said pleasantly, “Would you like to tell me where I can find Mr. Wilson?”

“Go…to _Hell_ ,” Oliver grunted, head lolling to the side as he tried to focus on the man before him.

“Very well, then,” Fyers said to Wintergreen, gesturing at Oliver, “Continue.”

Fyers turned his back and exited the tent. 

Oliver felt the press of the iron and screamed.

 

* * *

 

_They had finally given him dinner after having not fed him for days.  Oliver finished the paltry meal far too quickly and though it really just made him even hungrier than before he sighed in relief and propped himself up against the side of his cage.  For once nothing hurt, aside from his protesting stomach, and Oliver closed his eyes enjoying the pleasant high of finally feeling (somewhat) normal._

_He drifted in and out of sleep for the better part of the day and no one disturbed him.  At least torturing him wasn’t on the menu today. Oliver had been tuning out all the noises around him, so when there was a scuffling directly behind him, he took no note._

_“Oliver,” a deep voice whispered._

_Oliver jolted awake and looked behind him.  Slade was crouched on the ground behind his cage.  The guard on the other side of the cages hadn’t noticed a thing; he was standing at ease watching the camp and was probably bored out of his mind._

_His heart beating a mile a minute, Oliver watched Slade silently move around the cage to the front.  Within seconds he had pulled the lock off and opened the door all without making a sound.  Slade beckoned him forward._

_Carefully, Oliver exited the cage, actually managing not to make any noise.  Slade moved back around the cage and into the woods with Oliver in tow.  Before they entered the tree line Oliver snuck a glance over his shoulder, to see the guard was gone completely.  It was unusual and Oliver wondered if he had gone off to tell the others they had escaped._

_No.  That wouldn’t make sense, if he had realized he would’ve tried to stop them not let them just walk off.  So they were in the clear._

_Oliver waited until it felt like they had traveled a good distance from the camp before grabbing Slade by the shoulder.  The man turned around and Oliver could see the hint of a smile on his face._

_“You came back for me,” Oliver said, voice filled with disbelief._

_“Of course, kid.  Do you really think I’d let them keep you?”_

_Slade took a step towards Oliver, bringing him within inches of the younger man.  Oliver’s heart fluttered in his chest._

_“I-I don’t know…I just thought...” Oliver clambered for the right words._

_He was sure Slade wouldn’t want to take the risk to save him; he had been imprisoned for a year before he managed to escape why would he chance getting caught again just for Oliver?  The smile fell from Slade’s face and he gazed into Oliver’s eyes, leaning in very close._

_“Priorities change, Oliver.  I may have only been looking out for myself, before, but now I’ve got someone more important to worry about.”_

_The intensity of Slade’s stare made Oliver turn his head and he could feel heat rising on his cheeks.  Slade’s hand took hold of his chin and pulled Oliver’s face back towards himself._

_“I mean it,” Slade said lowly._

_Oliver swallowed, his throat suddenly very dry.  He opened his mouth to respond but Slade cut him off by pressing his lips to Oliver’s._

_Oliver froze, but Slade was insistent, pressing his mouth against Oliver’s more firmly and then sucking the younger man’s lower lip between his teeth.  A groan pushed its way from Oliver’s chest and he closed his eyes, breathing in deeply and responding to the kiss._

_As Slade pushed his tongue into Oliver’s mouth he felt his brain start to get fuzzy._ _This was good.  This was so, so good, but Oliver started to feel like he might pass out._

_He pulled his face back from the kiss in order to catch his breath._

_Opening his eyes, Oliver was met with the sight of Sara standing before him._

_“Ollie,” she whispered._

_Oliver scrambled backwards, unable to keep his footing under control, and fell back onto the forest floor.  Sara approached him._

_“He’s not going to save you, Oliver.  You’re as good as dead to him now.”_

_Sara’s mouth was twisted into a mocking smile as she pulled a sword out from behind her back and shoved it wholeheartedly through Oliver's sternum._

Oliver woke with a shout; his breathing was labored and his heart was racing.  

He looked around him noting he was back in his cage whereas earlier he had been in Fyers’ tent. 

At the feeling of his chest constricting, Oliver sucked in a breath.  Despite his best efforts against it he started to sob.  The gut wrenching cries felt as if they were being pulled out of him against his will.

No matter what situation his mind could concoct to try and save him, the stunning reality was that he would never get out of this cage...not until they killed him.

 

* * *

 

Oliver Queen was thoroughly, absolutely, _without a doubt_ , one-hundred percent: straight.

Or at least, that’s what he told himself (unconvincingly).

Or at least, that’s what he told the world (surprisingly: convincingly).

When Oliver was a kid and his parents had explained to him what being ‘gay’ meant he hadn’t thought much of it. 

When Oliver was just hitting puberty and he became enraptured by the girls around him he knew he wasn’t gay (not that he ever thought he could be).

When Oliver had first looked at a man and thought he was handsome he was sure that didn’t mean anything, he was just objectively admitting the man was attractive. 

And let’s not forget; he was _straight_. 

When Oliver found himself on more and more occasions appreciating the male form he started to question himself.  Could he really be gay and he was just trying to be straight because that was 'expected'?

But, no, that didn’t make sense Oliver was attracted to women.  He liked the softness of their bodies, their breasts, legs, butts, stomachs…he liked it _all_.

So when Oliver had found himself particularly attracted to a male classmate his senior year of high school, so attracted that he would find himself thinking about him late at night while his hand wondered lower on his body seeking release, he had decided his best course of action would be to ignore the feelings altogether.

Girls did it for him, that’s all that mattered...he didn’t need to think about the other stuff.

Being on Lian Yu, however; faced with imminent death? 

Oliver might be willing to admit that he wasn’t _entirely_ straight.

The way he had been feeling about Slade was even more confusing than his high school crush and Oliver really, _really_ didn’t give a shit about labels anymore.

All Oliver could be sure of was that if he somehow survived this, he wanted to see Slade again. 

And this time he wouldn’t feel bad for wanting things from the other man. 

He wanted to know what it felt like to have Slade kiss him, and feel the scrape of his beard against his face. 

He wanted the other man to hold him in his sturdy arms, touch his skin with his calloused hands…

Oliver bit back a groan. 

He really shouldn’t be getting turned on while trapped in a cage that was _very_ public, but he was finding it difficult to resist the thoughts.

 

* * *

 

_“There are no sides, just people who help you and people who don’t.”_

There was something to be said about people who could easily trust others.  Oliver wasn’t sure if that would be good things or bad things, but he supposed it was a bit of both.  Trust was not something Oliver felt he easily gave, but being where he was now he began to re-evaluate his definition of the word.

When he thought of trust he had always associated it with his own emotions.  He found it difficult to open up to others because he didn’t know what they would do with the information they gained.  Would they wield it against him, unintentionally hurt him, or worse: not care?

In the present, however, Oliver had gained new opinions on what trust meant, and looking back on his entire life he realized he had been entirely far _too_ trusting. 

Like almost everyone else on the planet, he had gone from day to day never really suspecting harmful actions from those around him.  The day Oliver had first taken a shaky step onto this island he had that same trust; that someone would help him, because who wouldn’t want to help their fellow man?  The world allowed for all sorts of suffering but for the most part people were good and they sought to do good.

He had seen the fault in that logic the moment he was locked in the cage for the first time but the message hadn’t truly sunk in until now.

People were not good; people were self-serving.

But then again, people weren’t really _bad_.

After all, wasn’t Oliver the same?  He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was a selfish individual.  His entire life had been spent doing what _he_ wanted.  Maybe he hadn’t ever violently hurt someone the way Fyers had but he was responsible for inflicting pain.  On his family; his friends; every girl he’s ever used; Laurel.

Frankly, when it came down to it, Oliver couldn’t even trust himself to be a good person. 

So, how could he have ever expected it of someone else?

 

* * *

 

A thick fog had settled upon the camp in the early hours of the morning, now visible thanks to the rising sun.  The sky was a soft pink and Oliver hoped it would be warm that day.

Steadily, the weather had been taking a turn for the better, temperatures rising and rain staying at bay.  It was undeniable that spring had taken its hold on the island. 

Not once had Fyers given Oliver any bearing on how long he’d been in the camp so he had no idea what month it was.  He was sure he’d been there quite a while but there really was no purpose in him keeping track of the time.

Briefly, Oliver wondered if his birthday had already passed.  When he had left with his father and Sara he had been about two months shy of his twenty-second birthday.

The thought itself didn’t really make him feel anything but he chose not to dwell on it.

Time as a concept was something Oliver never thought about too much.  He remembered a professor at one of his schools had been obsessed with it; so even though the course was simply one dedicated to general sciences the professor often found time to sneak in a discussion on physics and the meaning of time.

The information had always made Oliver’s head hurt; not that he couldn’t understand it, but the theoretical nature of it all was overwhelming and to be honest, intimidating.  Humans felt time progress but what their minds perceived barely scratched the surface of the reality of it.

Being in the camp made Oliver feel like maybe time wasn’t really anything at all.  Yes, the days went by and new ones appeared in their wake, but nothing was really changing.  The soldiers did their assigned tasks, Wintergreen tortured him, sometimes he ate, etc.  Despite all those things he was still in the cage and even if he were to be killed today, even if he were to escape tomorrow, nothing would change. 

The earth would still spin on, the universe would still exist, regardless of what happened to Oliver Queen.

 

* * *

 

It was raining again. 

The change in seasons had brought a fresh batch of storms and it had been raining almost nonstop for a week.  While the nights still had a way of getting chilly, the days were warmer and the humidity made the air feel thick.

The sound of the raindrops hitting the outside of the tent echoed around him from his place strung up on the pole.  It had been hours since the guards had brought him there and while routine was for Wintergreen to have already started torturing him by now, today had been different. 

Since the soldiers had left after cuffing him, not a single person had entered the tent and Oliver had been left to his own devices.  The muscles in his arms burned in protest at their position but there was nothing he could do about it.  Vaguely he wondered if this was supposed to be his punishment for the day; left alone pinned and mounted, only his pain and misery to keep him company.

That seemed a bit far-fetched, though.  The tortures Wintergreen and Fyers usually designed for him were always far more creative.  His fingertips still ached from the last time he was in the tent when Wintergreen had focused entirely on shoving needles under his nail bed.   

As the day pushed on and the rain continued to fall Oliver let his mind wander far away and the hours blurred.

When the tent flap opened and Fyers entered Oliver didn’t react.  Fyers looked smug and he was staring at Oliver, hands clasped behind his back. 

“Oliver, you’ll be pleased to note I have an update for you on your companion.”

Oliver blinked.

“That is to say,” Fyers continued, “We have successfully located and exterminated Mr. Wilson.”

Fyers brought a hand from behind his back and tossed something to the floor at Oliver’s feet.  Oliver stared for a moment before he registered what he was looking at.

It was a piece of fabric with a sort of checkered black and white design, and it was covered in a healthy coating of fresh blood. 

Oliver’s stomach churned at the sight and a sharp pain echoed in the walls of his chest.  He closed his eyes.

“Now that he is no longer a problem, no thanks to you, I’m going to have to think over if there’s any value to keeping you alive.  I’ll let you know in the morning what conclusion I come to.”

Oliver heard a rustling and guessed Fyers left the tent.  Soon after he was being released from the chains and dragged through camp again.  He couldn’t focus on anything around him, his vision blurring, but soon he recognized the scratchy feel of the mat on the floor of his cage and familiar sound of the padlock latching shut.

Tipping over to the side, Oliver curled up on the floor.  His breathing started to come in harsh pants, and it felt like there was an unyielding weight crushing his chest.

_It wasn’t real, it was just another dream._

A broken sob fell from his lips and he hid his face in his hands trying to gain some semblance of control.

_It wasn’t real._

_This isn’t real._

 

* * *

 

The next morning Oliver watched the sun rise, staining the sky orange and red.  He had not slept at all but he didn’t feel tired.  He didn’t feel anything really. 

Two soldiers approached Oliver’s cage.  As they grew closer Oliver could here snippets of their conversation.

“…the last thing I need is to be woken up at the ass crack of dawn to move this whiny bitch around.  I’m gettin’ real sick of guard duty.”

“Remember that next time you want to steal some of Fyers’ booze then, dipshit.”

The two men laughed as one of them opened the cage.  Oliver shuffled over to the door holding his hands out to be cuffed.  When Oliver’s hands had been effectively bound he stepped out of his prison.  One of the guards grabbed his left arm, ready to guide him through camp, but when his friend hesitated he let go of Oliver.

“’Sup, man?”

“I dropped the fucking key, hold on.” 

The second guard knelt down, looking around in the dirt for the lost key.  The other stood beside Oliver waiting. 

After what must have been thirty seconds the first guard moved over towards his companion.

“Christ, you’re a goddamn idiot.  Let me look; you watch the prisoner.”  The man knelt down while the other moved to stand.

A sudden impulse sent Oliver forward.  Before the man could fully stand, Oliver wretched the knife out of the holder strapped to the man’s belt.  The sudden movement caused him to fall back onto the ground, and without hesitation Oliver kneed the man in the stomach and brought the knife down into his chest. 

The moment the blade had fully embedded into the guard his eyes locked with Oliver’s; they were wide and Oliver could read the fear.

Oliver ripped the knife back out of the man’s chest and brought it down again and again.  He could hear the other guard shouting, could feel the hot spray of the blood against his face but he didn’t stop.  The man thrashed beneath him, gurgled chokes bursting forth as Oliver stabbed him repeatedly.

It all happened in a matter of seconds but it had been just long enough.  The other guard threw his body full force into Oliver, tackling him to the side and off the other soldier.  Oliver dropped the knife and the guard punched him hard enough across the face that his mind went blank and he was knocked unconscious. 

He was jolted back awake when an icy bucket of water was tossed into his face.  Oliver groaned, his head was pounding and he could feel his arms strung up above him, holding most of his weight.

“I knew you’d be upset, Mr. Queen, but I never quite expected such a vicious reaction.”  _Fyers._

Oliver’s head was yanked up by the chin and he opened his eyes to the blonde man.

“You've killed one of my men,” he said to Oliver, looking quite displeased. 

Oliver just laughed.

“Like you give a shit,” he responded.

“The man was an asset.  I don’t like to lose assets.”

“ _Fuck off_.”

“I underestimated you, Oliver, and that makes this little incident my fault.  But I will not do so again, it would be in your best interest to remember that.”

Fyers released his face and took a step back.  He then continued to speak.

“Before you callously murdered one of my soldiers I thought to kill you.  I believed your use to me had come to an end as it was stunningly clear you’d never betray Mr. Wilson.  I’ve since changed my mind.  And I have a feeling given enough time you’ll change yours.” 

Fyers’ smile was daunting and it made Oliver feel sick.

“I’ll… _never_ , work for you,” Oliver spat.

“Ah, yes, but people change…all the time.  You are not the exception to that rule.  And I think,” Fyers said lowly, approaching Oliver, “knowing that Mr. Wilson is still very much alive and that he has not made a single attempt to come near this camp to try and rescue you, might sway your opinion.”

Fyers gave his cheek a light pat with his hand before turning and exiting the tent.

Oliver waited for the relief but it never came. 

Knowing that Slade was still alive should have changed how he felt but his stomach twisted into knots and the blood caked on his hands began to itch fiercely, searing into his skin like a brand.

 

* * *

 

Oliver flipped through the blank pages of the little book.  It was becoming a bit of an unconscious habit, to pull the book out of his pocket and worry it absentmindedly. 

One of the many useless attempts of Fyers trying to recruit him had earned him the book.  Fyers told him how they had searched and disposed of his father’s body after they had captured Oliver the first time.  There was nothing on his father’s person minus his clothes, wallet, and the book.

Fyers had said his father would be proud if he could see him now.  Oliver didn’t even want to think of what twisted logic got him to that conclusion, but the man had given him the book saying he’d earned it for showing ‘initiative’.  Oliver swallowed.

He couldn’t remember with absolute clarity what all of his father’s last words to him had been but what he did know was the man had told him to ‘right his wrongs’. 

And while Oliver had all but given up before, the book was a striking reminder that he couldn’t let his father’s sacrifice be in vain.

Oliver _needed_ to survive, and the first step to accomplishing that was getting out of this cage.

 

* * *

 

**_August 2007_ **

Summer had long since taken its hold on the island, the weather making that fact undeniable.  But whereas Oliver was used to a dry sort of heat where even the most sweltering days allowed for the occasional cool breeze, this heat was stifling. 

The amount of cloudy days outweighed the sunny ones and every day was extraordinarily humid.  The moisture in the air clung to his clothing and skin combining with the heat making it impossible not to sweat.

At this point Oliver would pay any amount of money for a brief respite from the whole sweating thing; it’d be _really nice_ to be dry for like, at least two fucking seconds.

Oliver groaned and pushed his bangs away from his sweaty brow.  His hair had grown quite a bit by now and his beard had filled in more than it ever had in his entire life.  He felt itchy, and hot, and…gross. 

Oliver would _kill_ for a shower.

Oliver looked out over camp and watched the soldiers move around.  Today had been rather uneventful thus far and he doubted it would become any more interesting, but he needed a distraction.  The men came and went as usual. 

After midday had passed, and the men returned from their meal, Oliver noticed their behavior was different.

Normally they paid him absolutely no mind, but now, he was positive they kept looking over at him.  Every so often one of the men would glance in his direction but then quickly look away.  A few times even, Oliver thought he saw one of them gesture his way while talking to another.

Oliver sighed and looked up at the sky; he was just being paranoid.

When the men all came for him at sunset, worked up into a frenzy and jeering loudly, he realized his paranoia had been warranted.

As he stood in the circle of men, Yao Fei across from him, Oliver strangely felt relief.  He hadn’t seen the man since the first night of his imprisonment and he had wondered on more than one occasion if he was still alive.  Despite his rather blunt betrayal, Oliver didn’t believe Yao Fei was a bad man and he wasn’t angry with him.

So when the man locked him in a choke hold, slowly depriving him of air, Oliver thought that maybe he deserved it.  Maybe, his whole reason for being here was to suffer.  Suffer, and die at the hands of a friend. 

Oliver had spent so much time in his life betraying the trust of others…perhaps it was his turn to learn what that felt like.

 

* * *

 

When Oliver came to he was submerged in water.  He thrashed about, finding his way to the surface taking in a large gasp of much needed air.  His arms flailed wildly trying to keep him afloat despite his confusion. He looked around and located the bank at the edge of the river, swimming over to it.

Crawling on all fours, Oliver exited the water and plopped down onto the ground, still trying to desperately get air back into his body.  The last thing he remembered was fighting Yao Fei and being choked by him.  The man was supposed to kill him so why he was still alive was a mystery.

Oliver’s entire body was drenched and the fabric of his clothing clung to his body, making the object in the front pocket of his shirt very noticeable as it sat heavy, just above his heart.

Curious, Oliver reached in and pulled out a piece of folded up paper.  Upon unfolding it Oliver discovered he held a map of, presumably, the island.  In the top right corner a section had been circled in red pen, a single word written next to it:

 _"Shēngcún_."

 

* * *

 

Oliver stumbled across the clearing towards the plane.  It had taken him the better part of two days to make sense of the map using the little compass that had been tucked in his pocket alongside it, but Oliver had _finally_ made it.

Of course he hadn't known were he would end up when he followed it but now that he was here it made perfect sense.

He had only taken brief moments of rest during his journey so his mind and body were overtired, everything around him a little fuzzy and the sunlight far too overwhelming. 

When Oliver entered through the cracked side of the fuselage he immediately looked around, pulse racing.  There was no one in sight, but the place had been tidied up since he’d last seen it, a majority of the vines cleared and the crates organized. 

Oliver knew Slade had to be there.

Taking a few more steps in, Oliver turned to his left to get a better look at things.  He didn’t get to take in much, though, as he heard a thump behind him and quite suddenly a long piece of sharp metal was pressed to his neck from behind.

“ _Twitch_...and I’ll open your throat,” a voice growled in his ear.

“Slade,” Oliver gasped, trying not to move lest he slice himself on the sword at his neck.

The sword was gone and Oliver took in a deep breath, bringing his hand to his neck to rub the now irritated skin there.  A hand grabbed his shoulder and yanked him around to face the other man.  Slade was looking at him, brows furrowed.  He spoke after a moment of silence.

“ _Kid_.”

The older man looked very troubled and Oliver didn’t know what to say.  He was feeling the effects of exhaustion even more than before and was sure if he closed his eyes for even a second he would be unconscious on the floor.  Oliver felt a chuckle push it’d way out of his chest.

“Guess what?”  He asked the other man.

“What?”  Slade’s brow furrowed even further.

“I’m not dead,” Oliver said between gasps as his chuckle became a full blown laugh. 

Slade opened his mouth to say something but before he could Oliver tipped forward, resting his forehead on the other man’s shoulder, closing his eyes.  His laughing slowly subsided and he was vaguely aware that he had started shaking a bit, so he stayed there, taking shallow breaths.

Oliver felt Slade’s hand press against the center of his back, and he took in a sharp breath, unable to contain the sob that followed.  He squeezed his eyelids shut, tighter, trying to stop the welling of tears.  Slade placed his other hand against Oliver’s lower back and his arms pulled the younger man in tighter.

The tears burned hot down Oliver’s face as Slade held him.

“’S’okay, kid,” Slade said, voice uncertain.

Slowly, Slade began to rub circles into his back and Oliver took in a deep breath, able to collect himself a bit.

“Hey…Slade,” Oliver said, voice cracking slightly.

“Yeah, kid?”

“Do you remember when we first met?  And you said that if I survived their torture that you’d tell me about yourself?

Well…I think I deserve to hear your life’s story now, if I’m being honest.”

Slade choked out a laugh, clearly surprised.

“Whatever you wanna know, kid; you _earned_ it,” Slade mumbled, resting his cheek against the top of Oliver's head.

 

* * *

 

**_The Amazo, 52 Klicks Southeast of Lian Yu_ **

Sara Lance stood outside the door of Ivo’s cabin.  She raised her hand for the second time, this time letting her knuckles connect with the steel; letting go of all hesitancy.  She heard a muffled “Come in,” and opened the door.

Anthony Ivo stood over the body of a man strapped to a table.  His back was facing the door and Sara couldn’t see what he was doing to the man, but the prisoner’s leg twitched helplessly under the restraints.

“Just one second,” Ivo said, calmly.

Sara waited, and when the man’s legs stopped moving Ivo took a step back, stripping his hands of a pair of blood-drenched latex gloves, while turning around to face her.

“Sara, what could be _so_ important that you had to interrupt my experiment?”  Sara swallowed against the uneasy feeling rising in her stomach. 

“I found a letter; a correspondence between General Hisakwa Saburou and one of his lieutenants.  I think it could indicate which island the submarine crashed on.  We may not have to search them all.”

Sara smiled at Ivo when he suddenly looked intrigued; she knew she’d done well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once again to everyone for all the feedback on this, I am so grateful!
> 
> I'm the only one who edits this and I do in fact get sick of re-reading it so if you spot any mistakes please let me know.
> 
> I officially have an outline for what's going to happen in this fic and there will be 11 chapters total by the end, also I plan on shaking things up in a big way as you probably noticed by that ending right up there...
> 
> As far as the timeline I'm trying not to get too caught up in dates, but I'd say the first three chapters took place over the course of a month(ish) so that means Oliver was imprisoned for around four months...sorry Ollie.
> 
> Random things: The phrase 'pinned and mounted' was taken from The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo soundtrack which is great for writing dark scenes (although I've never actually seen the movie), The quote: “There are no sides, just people who help you and people who don’t,” is taken from the C4 show Utopia which is such an amazing conspiracy thriller that I love with all my heart, I came up with the Japanese General's name thanks to google, it's not meant to reference any real person (hisa= a long time ago, kawa = river, stream // sabu= three, rou= son...'the third son'). Not that the name matters at all but it was fun.
> 
> Up next: Training! The Odyssey...but different. Sexual Tension. Lots more Oliver/Slade interactions bc once again this chapter lacked Slade. All your faves living, breathing, and not dying? Heck yeah. I finally get past the set up and start the real action!


	5. Hunger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaannnddd the rating goes up! It's still not _super_ explicit but we're building to that so why not right. Also, as an apology for the last two chapters' lack of Slade...here's a whole bunch of Slade.
> 
> Enjoy!

The crack of the bamboo reed against Oliver’s face echoed across the clearing, and his entire body was thrown to the ground from the force of the blow.

Oliver groaned and rolled over in the dirt.  Slade prowled around him slowly, and then spoke.

“Remind me again how you managed to survive Fyers and his men for four months.  I know girl scouts that have more fight in them.”

“Fighting girl scouts now, Slade?” Oliver muttered as he got to his feet.  He looked over to see Slade was glaring at him, _what else was new_.

After Oliver’s return, Slade’s initial kindness hadn’t lasted long.  Oliver had rested for less than a day before the man was griping at him about getting into shape.  He had started waking Oliver at sunrise every day so he could take him out to the clearing and whip him with sticks. 

There was no actual attempt to teach Oliver a skill, rather Slade attacked him time and time again, apparently in hopes Oliver would magically learn to fight. 

It was really starting to piss Oliver off.

“Listen, kid, we have ten days until the supply plane lands.  Ten days to turn you into at least half a soldier.  So start taking it seriously.” 

Slade was looking at him with a ferocious sort of intensity that made Oliver sort of wish he was hitting him with the bamboo instead.  Oliver fought to push down the feeling of intense irritation building in his chest.

“I just don’t see the point in this,” Oliver said, voice growing louder, “You and I both know Fyers’ men don’t carry bamboo, they carry guns.  So what am I suppose to do if one of them jams a gun in my face, _huh_?  Threaten them with my stick?” 

Oliver was frustrated, sure, but he could see Slade had become irate.  The older man pulled the gun from his belt and held it out to Oliver.

“Here,” he growled, “Jam this in my face.”

Oliver hesitated.

“ _Do it_.”

Oliver grabbed the gun as ordered, despite knowing he was about to be taught a very painful lesson.  He held it up, pointing it at Slade, and his arm had barely made it into position when the other man grabbed it fiercely.  He forced Oliver’s arm down and spun, throwing Oliver over his shoulder and onto the ground roughly. 

 _Point taken_.

“Fuck, I give up,” Oliver groaned from his position in the dirt.  Slade stood over him, _glaring_.

“You know for a fact there is no giving up to these guys; no crying or buying your way out.”

Slade held out a hand and Oliver took it, the other man helping him to his feet.  When Oliver stood in front of him, their hands still clasped, Slade finished his thought.

“You have two choices: escape or die.  _So choose_.”

“Escape,” Oliver huffed.

Slade smirked and let go of his hand.

“Then let me show you how not to die.”

They fought well into the evening, and it wasn’t until then that Oliver actually managed to land a hit.  By what was probably a stroke of pure luck, Oliver noticed an opening when he dodged a blow aimed at his face.  Slade had left his side unguarded and Oliver swung his right arm, the bamboo connecting with Slade’s abdomen.  Slade grunted and stopped moving, looking at Oliver, eyes wide.

“ _Fuck, yes_!” Oliver shouted, throwing his arms in the air.  He laughed loudly at Slade who was now squinting at him.

“Not bad, kid, there might be a fighter inside you after all.”  Slade grinned slightly, and Oliver saw a peculiar look in his eyes that seemed to be _pride_.  Suddenly, a thousand butterflies started beating their wings in Oliver’s stomach and he looked away clearing his throat, face growing hot.

“Yeah, well, someone has to watch your back; you need me just as much as I need you,” Oliver said, lamely. 

Shit, he sounded like an _idiot_ …like a dumb idiot making a straight up awful attempt at flirting.  Oliver really wished he could rewind by about fifteen seconds.

Oliver’s attention was forced sharply back to Slade when the other man placed a gloved hand on the back of his neck, staring directly into his eyes.

“Don’t get a big head, kid, I’ve only just begun making you into something that won’t get us both killed,” Slade looked at him for a second longer and then let him go, heading towards the plane.

Oliver swallowed and tried to forget the warmth of Slade’s hand on his neck.

 

* * *

 

“I’m just s _aying_ : I don’t think Yao Fei is working for them by his own choice,” Oliver said stiffly, staring into the flames of the fire before him.

“No one works for Fyers unless they choose to work for Fyers, you know that.”  Slade was looking at him from across the fire. 

Oliver fought down the rising panic in his chest.  _Yeah, he knew._

“I just don’t get why he would help me escape if he was working for Fyers,” Oliver said, frustrated.

“It doesn’t matter,” Slade responded, firmly, clearly meaning to end the conversation.

“But it does!  He was our friend, he was working with us and he hated Fyers why would he suddenly want to just go off and…”

“ _Oliver_ ,” Slade interrupted, “There are no _friends_ here, and you hardly knew the man.  You owe him nothing.”

“So, what, we’re not friends?” Olive said lightly, trying to make it sound like a joke but failing miserably.

“I’ve chosen to make you my ally, not because we’re friends or because I fully trust you, but because I need help getting off this damned island.

I’ve seen your will to survive and I know you’d undergo torture and death before betraying me.  That says a lot, kid.”

Slade met his gaze, unblinking.

“Not even my former partner, the godfather to my son, showed that kind of loyalty.”

Oliver furrowed his brow at that statement.  Slade continued to speak.

“You’ve met him: Wintergreen.”

Oliver’s entire body twitched harshly at the reminder of the other man; the man in the black and orange mask.

“He…he was...” Oliver whispered, trying to find the right words.

“We were both in ASIS: Australian Intelligence.  He and I were partners for the better part of a decade.  The last mission we were sent on was to infiltrate this island and bring back Yao Fei to find out why Fyers and his men are so interested in him.  As soon as we entered the island’s airspace they shot our bird out of the sky.  When Fyers took us prisoner he made his offer; Billy accepted Fyers’ invitation and I declined.  You know how that turned out.

He knew me better than anyone, and yet he turned his back on me without thinking twice about it. _You_ , though,” he pointed at Oliver, “You didn’t give me up despite barely knowing me.  So no, kid, we’re not _friends_.  We’re partners.”

Oliver sat in silence trying to absorb the information, looking over at Slade who had turned back to sharpening his swords.  He didn’t realize that Slade had put so much faith in him.  Oliver thought his reliance on Slade was one-sided but it was becoming obvious that the other man might care about Oliver in return.

“You…have a son?” Oliver asked.

A huge grin spread across Slade’s face as he disregarded his swords and looked back up at Oliver.

“Yeah, his name’s Joe,” Oliver couldn’t help but smile in return.  It was obvious Slade cared deeply about him.

Oliver had never at any point been upset at Slade for not trying to free him from Fyers’ camp.  Instead, he had rightfully blamed the universe for the shitty situation.  If Slade had tried to help Oliver there would have been almost a one-hundred percent guarantee of failure; Fyers _wanted_ Slade to come after Oliver because he considered Slade to be a high-value target.

But knowing now that Slade had a son to return to made it even more obvious why the man hadn’t taken the risk of freeing Oliver.  Slade wasn’t just trying to get out of here alive, he was trying to make it back home to take care of his child. 

“So, uh, what’s your wife’s name?” Oliver asked, trying to be casual, but to his own ears sounding very _un_ -casual.

Slade practically choked.

“I’m not married,” he grimaced.

 _Okay_.

“I’m guessing that relationship didn’t end well,” Oliver chuckled.

“Stop prodding, kid, I’m not gonna talk about _her_ ,” Slade growled, picking up his swords again.

Oliver tried _really_ hard to contain his laughter. 

And failed.

Slade got up and wandered off, muttering something about spoiled brats which only made Oliver laugh louder.

Oliver was glad he and Slade had found each other in this hellhole; he wasn’t sure where he’d be without the man.

 

* * *

 

Once he had the small lake in his sights Oliver took off into a sprint.  When he made it to the sandy bank, he began haphazardly discarding his clothes, and once he was down to his boxer shorts he waded into the water enthusiastically.

“Strategically, that was a shit move.  You didn’t even clear the area before you started stripping,” Slade shouted from behind him. 

Oliver ignored him and once he was about waist deep, dropped down underneath the water.

He had been quite frankly, whining, for days about being dirty.  At first Slade had given him water and a rag, but the man quickly learned that wouldn’t stop Oliver’s complaining.

So Slade had told him there was _potentially_ a body of water they could visit that he could _maybe_ wash up in.  Oliver had jumped on that idea with everything he had and hadn’t let it go until Slade had agreed to take him there.

The cool water felt amazing against his itchy, sweaty skin.  Oliver resurfaced and scrubbed at his body with his hands hoping to rid himself of as much grime as possible.  He heard some innocuous splashing from behind him, but he kept on ignoring Slade in favor of relishing his time in the water.

“This will help.”

Oliver turned to Slade who was right behind him, and _very_ shirtless.

Slade was holding out his right hand and there was some sort of mashed-up plant in his palm.  Oliver continued to stare at the pulpy mess, doing his best not to ogle the other man’s extremely muscular torso.

“Uhh…” Oliver began.

“Saponaria officinalis, or as it’s more commonly referred to: soapweed.  When you wouldn’t shut up about bathing I decided to scavenge for some.”

Slade was smirking at him and the sunlight was playing nicely across his features making his skin practically glow, and his eyes a far lighter shade of brown than they usually were.  Oliver’s mouth was suddenly very dry.  Slade’s eyes crinkled a bit in the corners as his smirk grew into a smile and Oliver stood transfixed when he gently took Oliver’s right hand with his left, cupping it, before dumping the plant into his palm.  His calloused skin scraped against Oliver’s palm and Oliver shivered.

When Slade pulled his right hand back, he kept his hold on Oliver’s wrist with his left.  Slade broke his gaze with Oliver and looked down at the younger man’s chest.

“They really did a number on you,” he said lowly, lifting his right hand up to gently grip Oliver’s side and rub his thumb along the scar just under Oliver’s left pectoral.  Oliver shuddered and let out a gasping breath. 

If he had any previous hopes of playing it cool they had just been shot out the window.

Slade continued to caress his side for a few more seconds and Oliver couldn’t bring himself to look at the man, instead he stared at his collarbone while he enjoyed the bursts of tingling pleasure that were erupting from his skin under Slade’s touch.

The moment ended too soon when Slade released Oliver completely and backed away.

“You better wash up, kid,” he said, voice like gravel. 

Oliver stared dumbly at the plant in his hand while Slade waded back to shore, presumably to get more of the soapweed for himself.

Oliver dipped his hand below the surface of the water to wet the plant and began to rub it against his stomach.  Miraculously, the stuff actually formed a lather, and he tried to forget about what had just transpired, concentrating on cleaning his skin and then his face and hair.

He went back beneath the water again to rinse himself off and when he came back up he could see Slade was about twenty or thirty feet away, washing off like Oliver had done.  The older man was scrubbing his right arm and Oliver couldn’t help but become entranced by the muscles of his back as they shifted from his movements.

Oliver’s already interested cock twitched beneath the surface of the water and he bit back a groan.  _This was really not the time._  

Actually he wasn’t sure there would ever be a ‘time’ considering he had no clue whether Slade was interested in him in the same way.  Yeah, the man had sort of groped him a few minutes ago, but he might not have meant anything by it.  Oliver thought he may have just been reading the situation incorrectly.

Once again he went underneath the water, this time lingering.  He opened his eyes and found he couldn’t see too far into the distance, the water murky despite the sunlight.  He gave himself a moment to enjoy the water, holding his breath, and tried to will away his slight erection. When his chest started to ache he pushed himself out of the water and stood up.

Oliver rubbed the water from his eyes, and pushed his wet messy hair back from his forehead.  He noticed Slade was coming over towards him and he tried to act natural.  Instinct told him to leave the water and go find his clothes but he knew that his boxers would cling to him giving Slade the chance to notice his current situation, and he _really_ didn’t want that.

So Oliver stayed where he was wondering what Slade would do now.  Knowing the other man, he’d probably try and turn this into some sort of training exercise.  When Slade had gotten close, he didn’t stop moving until he was practically pressed up against Oliver.  Oliver only had time to let out a questioning sound before Slade had grabbed him by the back of the neck and pressed their mouths together.

A whimper escaped Oliver’s throat, and he pressed his eyes shut tightly trying to quell his embarrassment.  Slade wrapped his other arm around Oliver’s back pulling him tightly against his chest.  Oliver inhaled sharply at the feel of the other man’s warm, wet skin.  But what was most intriguing was the hard length he could feel pressed against his hip.

The hand Slade had on his neck moved to cup Oliver’s cheek as Slade licked at his lips, requesting entrance.  Oliver obliged and moaned as Slade began exploring his mouth, alternating between practically fucking his mouth with his tongue and licking at the roof of his mouth gently.

Oliver was accustomed to being the one mostly in control in situations like this, but in that moment he was completely at Slade’s mercy.  Oliver couldn’t even think of trying to take the lead, let alone put a plan into action.  He was finding he rather enjoyed letting Slade have his way with him.

The sound that escaped Oliver’s throat when Slade started sucking on his tongue could most accurately be described as a whine, and _fuck_ Oliver’s never made this much noise before and they were only kissing for Christ’s sake.

Slade moved both his hands to Oliver’s hips, grip bruising.  Oliver unconsciously rubbed his now fully hard cock against the other man’s stomach, the fabric of his shorts chaffing a bit uncomfortably.  Slade pulled back, moving to Oliver’s neck, nipping and sucking his way up to Oliver’s ear.  He took Oliver’s earlobe between his teeth an bit softly, breath dancing across the skin of Oliver’s neck.

“ _You like that, kid_?” Slade growled into his ear.

All Oliver could manage was a groan in response.  Slade forcefully turned Oliver around until the younger man was facing away, and he pulled him back against his chest.  Slade’s arms wrapped around his torso, one hand moving up to pluck at a nipple the other slowly moving down, caressing across the plane of Oliver’s stomach before stopping at the waistband of his boxers shorts and gently toying with the elastic there.

Slade was practically devouring his neck and Oliver’ tipped his head back to give him better access.  Oliver could feel the thick, hard length of the other man’s cock pressing against the swell of his ass.

“ _Slade_ ,” Oliver gasped, desperately.

“ _Mmm_?” Slade intoned, currently licking behind the shell of Oliver’s ear.

“I- I need…” Oliver gasped again as Slade started to massage just below his belly button, the sensation going right to his dick.

“What do you need, Oliver?”  Slade was no longer mouthing at him and Oliver could feel his warm breath ghosting across his damp cheek.

“ _Touch me,_ ” Oliver whined.

“I am touching you, kid,” Slade emphasized this point by digging his fingers more firmly into Oliver’s flesh.

_What a fucking asshole, he was going to make him say it._

“Touch. My. _Cock_ ,” Oliver gritted out from behind clenched teeth.

Slade bit the juncture of Oliver’s neck and shoulder as he finally plunged his hand down beneath Oliver’s boxers.  Oliver moaned breathily when the man took a hold of his dick, stroking lightly at first.  Pleasure coursed through Oliver’s veins, alighting every inch of his skin.

A litany of half-whines and moans escaped Oliver’s throat without any awareness from him as the older man worked his cock like he had done it a million times, twisting his wrist with each upstroke and thumbing gently at the head.  Oliver could feel Slade thrusting roughly against his backside, and he had been concentrating on the same spot of Oliver’s neck, biting and licking.  He was definitely going to leave a mark.

The thought made Oliver whimper and he could feel the pleasure building sharply at the base of his spine.  Slade grabbed at Oliver’s neck with his free hand and turned his face so he could capture his mouth in a searing kiss.

Every muscle in Oliver’s body tensed and he came suddenly.  His whole body went lax and he leaned back against Slade, letting the other man thrust against him while he plundered his mouth.  Every inch of his skin was humming pleasantly and it wasn’t long before Slade’s thrusts became sloppy.  He gripped Oliver even more tightly as he groaned into his mouth and Oliver knew he must have finally found his release.

Slade’s hold loosened but he continued to kiss Oliver lazily, until finally pulling back and letting go completely.

“You might want to take off your shorts and give them a bit of a scrub before you get out,” Slade said, matter-of-factly.

Oliver watched as Slade moved away, doing what he instructed Oliver to do for himself, before getting out of the water and dressing.

 

* * *

 

When they had gotten back to camp Slade had proceeded to thoroughly whoop his ass with a session of sparring.  Oliver was in fact getting better, but he was off his game today, unable to land a single blow. 

He was rather irritated Slade was acting so casually about what had happened between them. When Oliver really thought about it, he wasn’t sure what he’d want the man to say, but anything would be nice compared to this…. _silence_.

Oliver yelped when Slade knocked him to the ground with a particularly brutal hit to his side.

“Kid, if I knew getting you off was going to make you a shit fighter I wouldn’t have done it,” Slade mocked.  Oliver rolled his eyes.

“You know what, Slade, I think you-”

“Stop _thinking_. Start _fighting_.”

Slade looked deadly serious so Oliver just swallowed his response and got up from the ground, picking up the bamboo, and readying himself to fight.

 

* * *

 

“These are satellite images taken of the island,” Slade gestured to the picture he had laid, along with maps, on the crate before them. 

“Here is the location of the airstrip.”  He pointed at a spot on one of the maps.  “Now while you were gone, I spent most of my time staking out the location.  There are usually about ten soldiers guarding the place at any given time.”

“Too many of them for you?”  Oliver joked.

“No,” Slade said sternly, “My problem is the guy in the tower.  It's a P.A.T.C.: Portable Air Traffic Control Tower.  The U.S. government set them up for disaster zones, like Thailand after the tsunami.”

“So…what’s the problem?”  A tower shouldn’t make a difference to someone like Slade, someone with experience in these sorts of situations.

“The glass on the tower is bulletproof.  I can't take out the tower guard with my sniper rifle, and if he suspects anything's wrong he'll radio Fyers and we're cancelled,” Slade paused, “It’ll be up to you to take him out; up close and personal.  Are you ready for that?”

Oliver met Slade’s gaze.  The other man didn’t know about the soldier Oliver had killed, and Oliver didn’t really want to talk about it.

“Yes,” Oliver replied with certainty. 

“Good.  Get some rest, you’ll need it.  We leave at o-six hundred.”

 

* * *

 

Oliver was woken from his dreamless sleep at the feel of Slade’s hand on his shoulder.  Sunlight was starting to filter through the cracks in the fuselage and Oliver was shocked it was morning already.

“Rise and shine, kid.”

Slade slung the case with the rifle over his shoulder and threw the pack he had put together the night before to Oliver. 

After walking well into the afternoon, Oliver muscles ached and he was growing hungry.

“Can we rest for a second?” he asked.

“You can rest on the plane,” Slade responded, sparing a glance back at him.

“Yeah, well, really looking forward to that in flight movie,”  Oliver didn’t even have time to laugh at his own joke as he stepped on something solid that let out a loud click.  Oliver froze.

“Oh God,” he muttered.  Slade had turned at the noise and was staring down at Oliver’s foot.

“Don’t move.”

Slade dropped the rifle on the forest floor and laid down on the ground next to Oliver’s boot.  He carefully began scooping away the dirt from around his foot.

“Is it a mine?”

“Yeah,” Slade replied tensely.

“The soldiers mined the island?” _Seriously, what the fuck_.  Did they want to die too, what was the point? 

“No, it’s probably Japanese; left over from World War II,”  Slade continued to dig around the mine.  “It’s still active, _impressive_.”

“Yeah well I’m not impressed!” Oliver muttered, “Can you disarm it?”

Slade got to his feet and looked seriously at Oliver.

“Not without disarming you.”

Oliver was about to ask him what his plan was but the sound of men talking in the distance filtered through the trees.  He could hear their footsteps approaching.  Oliver looked at Slade, eyes wide.

“Put on your balaclava,” Slade whispered, grabbing his shoulder. “And don’t move.  I’ll take care of it."

Slade wrestled the pack off of Oliver’s back and grabbed the rifle off the ground.  He then moved into the trees to do whatever he was planning on doing.  Oliver grabbed the mask from his pants pocket and shoved it over his head, pulling it down over his face, as he heard the men approach.

Their conversation halted as they caught sight of him and the four men formed a loose circle around him.  The man in front of Oliver spoke.

“What are you doing so far from camp?”

“I got separated from my unit,” Oliver responded, trying to sound calm.

“Come with us.” 

The man was clearly suspicious of Oliver, and really he couldn’t blame him.

“Um, I- I can’t,” Oliver stuttered, “I’m kind of having a bad day.”  He gestured at the mine below his foot.

The soldiers all turned their attention to the ground and at that moment a loud thunk sounded to Oliver’s left.  Slade was right there, pulling his blade from the dead guard.  Within seconds Slade managed to kill the other three men with efficient swipes of his swords.

Slade wiped the blood from his sword on one of the dead men’s uniforms and then sheathed it.  He knelt down, rolling one of the bodies right up in front of the mine.

“Be still,” he said, concentrating on the mine.  Oliver took a deep breath and held it.

With a quick shove Slade rolled the dead man forward and quickly let go, tackling Oliver to the ground in the same direction.  Slade landed heavily on top of him and Oliver braced for an explosion but there was none.

“Thank you,” Oliver sighed.

"Don't thank me, kid, that was pure luck."

 

* * *

 

They had reached the location of the airstrip well into the evening, but Slade was adamant they not attack until it was very late in order to try and catch the soldiers off guard.  So they had set up a small camp not far from the airfield, but far enough as not to be caught, and Oliver had been trying to build a fire for a _while_.

The branches and leaves were a bit damp and he wasn’t having any luck getting them to light.

“Obviously, you were never a boy scout,” Slade said.

“Yeah! What tipped you off?” Oliver practically yelled.

Slade didn’t say anything, just continued to watch Oliver’s useless actions while he cleaned and assembled his rifle  He had a dumb smirk on his face and that was just making Oliver even more angry.

“Well, you better hurry…” Slade said after a few minutes of silence, “The wolves come out at night.”

Oliver looked up at the other man sharply.

“There are wolves here? Right, _of course there are_ , because what would the worst place on Earth be without wolves!”  _Just great._

“The only thing that will keep them out…is fire.”  Slade was still smirking like an asshole and Oliver had just about had enough.

“Yeah, well, you’re welcome to help!” Oliver threw down the sticks and crossed his arms.

Slade just kept looking at him, _smirking_ , while he pulled a lighter out of his pocket and reached down to light the kindling with it.  Oliver nearly screamed at the _audacity_.

“Seriously!  I’ve been working on that for, like, two hours!”

“I know,” Slade was now fully grinning at him like a _fucking jerk_ , “I was watching.  Thank you for the entertainment.”

Oliver attempted to murder him with the intensity of his glare, and in return Slade laughed wholeheartedly, throwing his head back and everything.  Oliver felt like punching something, specifically Slade.

“You are…” Oliver started but then Slade interrupted him, holding his hand up.

“Let me guess: the worst?”

Oliver groaned loudly and Slade just kept on laughing.

After Slade’s laughter had faded away their conversation ended, as Slade went back to focusing on the rifle and Oliver stared into the growing flames.  He reached down and touched the hard edge of the small book in his pants pocket, but instead of pulling it out he went into his other pocket to retrieve the battered wallet that had made it through every step of this journey with him.

Flipping the wallet open Oliver pulled out the picture of Laurel.  He hadn’t looked at it since she had initially given it to him, and Oliver was surprised it had survived the water damage.  Yes, it was a little worn but for the most part it was intact.  Laurel’s kind face stared up at him from the picture and Oliver gasped a little.

He had in no way forgotten what she’d looked like, but people’s faces had the habit of becoming a little blurry in your memory the longer you went without seeing them, so to have such a clear reminder of every little detail of her face when he had been stuck here for so long was a bit overwhelming.

“Don’t worry you’ll be back with your girlfriend soon enough.”  Slade wasn’t looking at him and Oliver couldn’t read his face.

“Uh, she’s not my girlfriend…not anymore anyway.  You remember how I said my boat sank?  Well, her sister was with me when it went down.”

Slade looked up at him, and Oliver couldn’t tell if the other man actually cared or not whether he had a girlfriend.  It was a stinging reminder that despite what had happened at the lake; despite him calling Oliver his partner, Oliver was sure he didn't mean that much to Slade.  Not wanting someone dead didn’t mean they _wanted you_.

“Never took you for the ‘bad boy’ type, kid.  You seemed to lack the spine.”

Oliver wasn’t sure where the venom in Slade’s tone was coming from, but he supposed he deserved it.  Cheating on someone was its own form of betrayal and he knew Slade really hated liars.

“That’s why I need to get home,” Oliver muttered, “I have to make it right.”

“If you think you can sleep with a girl’s sister and she’ll forgive you, you’re dumber than I thought, kid.  And that’s truly saying something.”

Slade was looking at him, eyes wide.  Oliver swallowed.

“I know I’ve been a terrible person up to this point in my life, but I’m not going to be that way anymore.”

“Whatever you say, kid.”

 

* * *

 

When it was time for their attack, Slade set up his sniper rifle just outside the airfield and handed Oliver one of his swords.  He pointed over to the tower.

“If you let him radio camp, we’re done.”

“W-What about the others?”  Oliver could feel his nerves kicking in.  _They couldn’t fail_.

“You worry about your one; I’ll worry about my ten.”

Slade turned away, but Oliver wasn’t quite ready to start yet.

“Slade,” the man turned back towards him, “Thank you.  For everything.”

Oliver pushed himself forwards, pressing his lips gently just below Slade’s cheekbone before turning away quickly, not wanting to see the reaction.

He pulled the balaclava over his face and when he noticed an opening, ran in a crouch over to hide behind one of the vehicles parked nearby.  He stood and edged his way around the vehicle taking note of the soldiers who were patrolling the airfield.

As shots rang out and the men started to drop like flies Oliver didn’t think; he moved.  The four guards that were blocking his path to the tower died before they could even notice him.  He was almost to the stairs when a soldier rounded a stack of crates, landing himself right in Oliver’s way.

The man began to raise his gun but Oliver moved quickly, slicing his chest open with the sword.  The soldier hesitated, looking down at the gaping wound on his chest.  Another shot rang out and blood sprayed from the man’s neck as he fell to the ground.     

Oliver ran for the stairs and started up them quickly, trying to be careful of the noise his footfalls created.  The shooting stopped and Oliver hoped Slade was okay.  There had only been five shots thus far and there were still more men, but Slade had been confident he could handle them so Oliver didn’t look back.  He had seen firsthand what the man was capable of.

Once he was at the tower’s door, Oliver peered through the window.  The man inside was busy poring over the papers on his desk and seemed completely unaware of the chaos outside.  Oliver opened the door carefully and snuck up behind the man.

Oliver wanted to feel guilty for what he was about to do, but as he brought the sword up to the man’s neck and brutally sliced it open, he didn't.  He knew the only way to survive here was to let go of all inhibitions, to forget about what was ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ and just focus on what you needed to do to survive.  In that moment Oliver’s survival hinged on the man dying, so he killed him.

Soft, gurgling chokes escaped the other man as blood pulsed from his neck.  Oliver looked away.

A few moments later Slade entered the room, a bit of blood spatter visible on his face.  Slade took in the man hunched over and bleeding out on the desk.  His eyes flicked over to Oliver.

“I didn’t know you had it in you, kid.”

“Yeah, well, he’s not the first guy I’ve killed,” Oliver said bitterly. 

Slade looked like he wanted to speak more on the matter, but at the moment they were sort of _busy_ so he let it go.

“I’m going to make sure everything is clear.  Stay here and keep the door locked, don’t let anyone in except me, got that?”

Oliver nodded in affirmation avoiding Slade’s eyes.

When Slade returned ten minutes later Oliver was still standing where he had been when the other man left.

When the plane radioed in and Slade told him they needed to verify their identities by answering the challenge code otherwise they were _screwed_ , Oliver had snapped out of his funk.  He actually knew the answer.

When Slade told him he was going to have the island blown up, Oliver felt panic grip him.  He couldn’t let Yao Fei die, the man had saved him.

“Wait, you can’t blow up the island…Yao Fei is still out there!” Oliver insisted.

“He is not my concern.”  Slade wouldn’t look at him.

“Slade, he helped us, he helped _you_.  He's the only reason you came here…rescuing him was your mission!”  Slade looked at him sharply.

“Well the mission has changed.  Edward Fyers is a mercenary and he is not on this island by mistake.  He has plans for Lian Yu that involve Yao Fei, and whatever they are they must end.”

“Yao Fei saved my life…”

“That is _your_ debt to repay not _mine_.”

Fine.  Oliver was done with this conversation.  If Slade didn’t want to go with him then so be it.

Oliver moved to leave the tower but Slade grabbed him roughly by the arm and pulled him close so they were face to face.

“Where are you going?” Slade growled.  Oliver tried to pull himself away from Slade but it was no use, so he gave up, sighing.

“All my life...all I’ve ever thought about is _myself_.  I took my family for granted; I betrayed people that I loved, and I’m not going to be that person anymore. 

I can't leave Yao Fei here to die; I _won’t_.”

Slade said nothing, just stared at him, searching his eyes for something.  Oliver didn’t know what he found but he was shocked by what the man said to him next.

“Fine.  _Go_ ; since you’re so hell bent on it.  But I’m not letting you run off and to get yourself killed, kid.  I’m coming with you.”

Slade’s grip loosened and he rubbed Oliver’s arm gently where his fingers had been digging in moments before.  After a beat, he let Oliver go completely and grinned, looking a bit maniacal.

“I’ve got a plan.”

 

* * *

 

When they arrived at the camp Slade and Oliver split up like they had planned.  Oliver started searching the tents, looking for Yao Fei, while Slade went off to do whatever it was he was doing.  He hadn’t given Oliver very many details of his ‘plan’.

It was not part of Oliver’s plan, however, to run into Fyers and get captured, but alas, that is exactly what happened.

Oliver was dragged into the middle of camp and a large group of soldiers surrounded him.  Fyers spoke up from the crowd.

“Simply to satisfy my own curiosity, why aren’t you dead?  I saw Yao Fei choke you to death.”

“I guess he’s not as strong as he looks,” Oliver joked, trying to casually search the crowd.  _C’mon Slade where the fuck are you._

“Still, you return for him.  So, you’re either a fool, or is it possible you now think yourself a hero?”

“I’m not a hero,” Oliver spat, focusing back on Fyers.

“No, of course not…it's not possible to be a hero when there's nobody worthy of saving.”

Fyers mouth twisted up into a smile.

“So what do you want, huh?  Do you want me to fight some guy again?”

“Oh no, Mr. Queen, you are mistaken.  This is not a match; it’s an execution.”

Oliver felt a presence behind him, a shiver going down his spine, and he turned around to see Wintergreen standing there.  He froze, feeling panicked, and Wintergreen knocked him to the ground with a solid punch to the jaw.  Wintergreen approached him slowly, drawing his sword.

Everyone’s attention, including Wintergreen’s, was drawn by a sudden series of explosions in the camp.

Fyers began shouting orders and the men all scrambled into action.  Oliver took advantage of the confusion and got to his feet moving away from Wintergreen.  The man blocked his path, though, clearly only interested in Oliver.  He raised his sword, but an explosion, much closer than the rest caused him to turn around.  Oliver saw Slade approach him and silently thanked every God ever to exist, _ever_ , before running away to hide behind a crate.

He didn’t hear what Wintergreen said, but Oliver could make out Slade’s words plain as day as they exchanged blows.

“Well Billy, you always did have a good kick.”

Slade shoved the blade of his sword through the other man’s eye socket and pulled back, letting Wintergreen fall to the ground.  As Oliver approached Slade he saw Fyers aiming a gun in the distance, and he jumped on the man, throwing him to the ground.  A shot rang out but only one.

Fyers was now fighting with Yao Fei, and losing spectacularly.

Explosions continued to go off sporadically and _they really needed to get the fuck out of there_.

Oliver helped Slade to his feet and the two men moved towards the woods.  They made it into the trees without experiencing any trouble, and trekked back to the fuselage, on high alert.

 

* * *

 

When they made it back to the plane that night Oliver flopped down on his bedroll and buried his face in the fabric.

All of that....all of that _bullshit_ and they had accomplished absolutely nothing.  They had missed the plane, they hadn't saved Yao Fei, and yeah Wintergreen was dead but Fyers was probably still alive.

"Don't beat yourself up, Oliver, we did have one victory today," he heard Slade say.

"Yay! Wintergreen is dead!" Oliver said, voice sarcastically enthusiastic. "No offense, Slade, but it doesn't feel like much of a win."

"I wasn't referring to him," Slade responded.  "You'll see what I mean soon enough, kid."

Slade went back to being silent, letting Oliver pout in peace.

A few hours later, Oliver found out exactly what Slade had meant when Yao Fei entered through the cracked side of the plane followed by a young woman.

"Oliver....Slade," he said, "This is my daughter: Shado."

Oliver sat in stunned silence staring at the pair, as the gears turned in his head and with sudden clarity he knew why Yao Fei had done what he'd done. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This. was. a. lot. (for me anyway)
> 
> And i had originally planned for more to happen here? GUH.
> 
> Remember when I said this was my first fanfic....yeah so that was the first smut scene I've **ever** written, I hope it wasn't awful :/
> 
> Up next: time to fuck shit up, like really just straight up chaos. 
> 
> p.s. i love every single person who reads this xoxo
> 
> This fic is simultaneously giving me life and draining my life force, goodnight.


	6. The River Styx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a change of perspective for you all...Enjoy! xoxo

Slade worried the small hunk of wood in his hands, every so often cutting off a chunk with his knife.  Right now it looked like a whole lot of nothing, but in time it would find a shape; he didn’t have a plan for it quite yet.  

Slade looked up, sparing a glance at Oliver.

On the other side of the fuselage the kid was still fiddling with the damned radio.  When Oliver had told him that he had experience working on planes Slade nearly laughed.  Of all the things on God’s green Earth that this spoiled brat could’ve had knowledge of, he just so happened to know a thing or two about working on planes.

Although, Oliver had yet to make any true progress with the radio, so just because Oliver had done it before didn’t mean he would have any success now.  Slade knew getting his hopes up was a pointless endeavor but he wouldn’t try and stop Oliver from fixing the radio, because if it did work they’d be able to call for help.

It had been a few weeks since they had failed to catch the plane.  If the damned kid hadn’t been so loyal they’d be home by now…no, that wasn’t quite right.  If Oliver were any less loyal he probably would’ve given Slade up to Fyers ages ago, and they would’ve never even made it to the supply plane in the first place.

By now, Slade had imagined just about every way the scenario could have gone had even the smallest details been changed.  And the results never quite added up to a satisfying solution.  Where they were currently was probably the best turn of events because as it stood they were all still standing.

He’d find another way home, he knew it.  There was no room for failure.

Of course things were far more complicated now; he wasn’t just trying to save himself anymore.

Oliver Queen had taken a position in Slade’s life without even trying, like the self-entitled little prick he was.  Slade had never intended for even a second to care about the kid.  _And yet_...

When he met Oliver his first instinct was to distance himself.  He normally paid no mind to the other prisoners, there was no point really, if any of them survived it would be a miracle.  But as Oliver made it clear he was insistent on interacting with Slade, he found himself slightly suspicious.  Was this some strange attempt by Fyers to get information out of him; send in someone who seemed completely innocent to make him talk?

But no, it became clear rather fast that Oliver was not a soldier of any kind.  So Slade had begun to pity him.  Here was a run of the mill civilian who just so happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and ended up in hell.

Then, despite his better judgment, he’d found he actually _wanted_ to talk to the kid.  Slade had been there for a year; a year of imprisonment; a year of torture; a year where he found himself too often begging the universe for a means to escape even if it was through death.  So yeah, he actually enjoyed having a normal conversation for once.

When his final escape attempt actually succeeded he didn’t even think about whether or not he would take Oliver with him, there was really no question; he couldn’t leave him there he was just a kid and for better or worse Slade’s job was to help people.

Slade began to truly question his judgment regarding Oliver when Yao Fei shot him with an arrow.  The wound was damaging but not fatal, Slade knew that.  And Yao Fei had been rather confident he could handle it, but Slade had run off, despite warnings from Yao Fei. 

Just like that he had done one of the stupidest things he’s ever done in his entire life: he went back to Fyers camp.  All he managed to grab was a basic medical kit before he had to run or else be discovered.  The risk hadn’t even really been worth it in the end; Oliver would’ve healed the same with or without the bandages.

But when Oliver smiled at him as he finished wrapping his wound he stopped worrying about the consequences.

That had been the first moment that Slade had acknowledged he might have a problem.  Even though his own personal policy was ‘don’t become attached’; he was becoming attached.  He didn’t want Oliver to get hurt.

The day Oliver and Yao Fei had been taken Slade had searched for them well into the night.  Fyers men were everywhere, probably looking for him, and he knew it meant the worst but he didn’t want to believe they had gotten Oliver.  Slade had tried to come up with a solution, a way to get Oliver back, but Fyers would expect it; there was no way he didn’t end up caught as well if he tried to go after Oliver.

So Slade had waited for a crack in their defenses…eventually there would be a weakness he could exploit he just needed _patience_. 

Patience was hard to come by though, especially because he knew exactly what they were doing to Oliver in the meantime.  He didn’t want the kid to suffer, but if allowing it to happen meant he could save his life, Slade thought that was the better option.

What Slade had never expected was for Oliver to come stumbling back on his own.  He hadn’t even recognized the kid at first with his long hair and scraggly beard.

Slade’s instincts were screaming at him that it was a trap; Fyers had gotten to Oliver and they were going to use him to get to Slade.  But as he held Oliver, and Oliver sobbed violently against his chest he knew that couldn’t be true.

This kid…this _man_ had endured months of torture and had still come out on the other end himself.  They had taken a lot from him but they hadn’t broken him.  Maybe Oliver felt like they had, but Slade knew they hadn’t because despite it all Oliver had retained his loyalty, his sense of what was right and wrong, his commitment to himself and others…his _soul_.

Slade trusted Oliver and that was that.

But trust and confidence were two very different things.  He knew when it mattered Oliver would have his back, but Oliver’s skill set was still sorely lacking.  Slade had been trying his very best to remedy that, and the kid was becoming a better fighter, it was just taking a while.

It had come as a surprise to Slade that Oliver had killed the tower guard.  He thought for sure he’d have to rush in there, save Oliver, and kill the man himself.  But when he arrived the guard was dead and Oliver told him that wasn’t the first person he’d killed.  Slade still wanted to ask Oliver about that, but he knew to give it time. 

When Oliver let his mind wander Slade could see _that_ look in his eyes; the one he’d seen so many times in the soldiers he’d worked with over the years.  Oliver was haunted by what he’d done, and they’d need to talk about it eventually but for now their focus had to remain on getting home and nothing else.

Which was a bit ironic coming from himself seeing as he was the total ass who’d went and made things far more complicated than they needed to be.  Taking Oliver to the lake had only been about getting the kid to shut up, and _maybe_ giving him a bit of joy after months and months of shit.  Slade had already suspected Oliver was attracted to him but the way he'd reacted to Slade at the lake confirmed it.

He wasn’t going to do anything about it though, until he _did_ less than five minutes later.  Slade really thought he had better resolve but the island was proving to him that he was a hypocritical bastard.

Oliver’s extremely enthusiastic reaction to his advances was not entirely expected and Slade had taken it farther than he meant to. 

Slade didn’t want to let his mind wander down that road again, though.  Too often as of late, he’d found himself focusing on that moment; trying to remember exactly the sounds Oliver made and the taste of his mouth.  Slade had never considered himself prone to distraction but Oliver's presence had a way of challenging Slade's own ideas of himself.

Since Yao Fei and Shado had joined them it was easier to act like there wasn’t _something_ between them.  Shado had taken it upon herself to train Oliver, both with the bow and arrow and in hand to hand combat.  Yao Fei often oversaw their sessions adding his own bits of wisdom occasionally, but for the most part allowing his daughter to teach Oliver.

As much as Oliver complained he still seemed to prefer their training to Slade’s, and every time Slade tried to suggest he train Oliver for a bit the kid refused or went off to train with Shado instead.

This was the first time in days that Slade and Oliver had been alone together.  Yao Fei had left with Shado early that morning to hunt and Oliver had tried to go with them but Yao Fei insisted he stay behind.  Oliver had pouted for a bit after they left, completely ignoring Slade.

Slade couldn’t help but wonder if Oliver was upset with him based on the way he’d been acting.  He wasn’t exactly the type to ask people about their feelings so it’s not like he was going to bring it up but it was bothering him.  Although, maybe there was nothing wrong…maybe Slade was just getting a glimpse at how the kid truly felt about him.

Up until this point, for the most part, Slade had been Oliver’s only ally.  Oliver needed to rely on Slade because there was no one else.  But now, with Yao Fei and Shado, Oliver had other people he could count on; other people who could help him survive.  Any and all pretense could be dropped.

Maybe Oliver never really liked Slade at all, maybe the kid just felt like he owed Slade the same way he owed Yao Fei for not killing him. 

Slade flinched when he accidentally sliced his thumb with the knife.  _What was it he kept telling himself about distractions?_

He set the wood and knife to the side and brought his hand to his mouth, sucking at the small bit of blood welling up from the cut.

If Oliver wanted nothing to do with him anymore it was no skin off his nose; they had bigger concerns.

Fyers had wanted Yao Fei for whatever he was planning, for whatever it was that he was hired to do.  So the man would be coming after them with everything he had, and currently what he had was all the weapons and manpower of a small army.

To find a way home they needed to eliminate Fyers as a threat, but realistically the three of them didn’t stand a chance.  So what else could they do?  Finding a means of communication to call in back up was worth a try, but even then could they survive long enough until reinforcements arrived?

It’s not like Fyers would give up and leave them alone.  Really, any way you sliced it they were fucked but giving up wasn’t an option either.  Slade had always prided himself on being able to find his way out of any dire situation; he was an expert at out-thinking the enemy.  But ever since he had crash landed on Lian Yu every situation just led to a choice between something bad and something worse.

Slade looked over again at Oliver who was concentrating on the radio with a furrowed brow.  Every time he thought he’d figured the kid out, he learned something new about him that threw him for a loop.  Oliver was loud and awkward.  He was a liar and yet he was unwavering in his loyalty.  He was a bit dense but had a quick wit.  And he had one of the most absurd senses of humor Slade had ever come across.

Slade swallowed and looked away when he felt his chest clench a bit. 

If you had told Slade Wilson the day he met Oliver Queen that it wouldn’t be long before he’d be having feelings for the kid he would have laughed in your face.  And yet here he was, fighting off his affection with more ferocity than he’d used to shove a sword through ex-partner’s eye.

Oliver was an unnecessary complication and once he was off this island he’d forget all about the kid, of that much he was sure.

A sudden crackling burst of static echoed through the plane and Slade looked up at Oliver sharply.  Oliver was staring in disbelief at the radio as it continued to make noise.

Slade got up and hurried over to Oliver and the radio.

“You got it to work.”

“Yeah, I-I think so,” Oliver whispered.  He reached out to fiddle with more of the wiring and a few of the knobs.  Less than a minute later the static coming out of the radio stopped and a heavily modulated voice could be heard.

“Scylla is in route: ETA O-six hundred hours at the southwest bay.”

Fyers’ voice crackled over the radio responding to the voice.  Could this person possibly be whoever had hired Fyers?

“Scylla and Charybdis,” Oliver chuckled.

Slade looked at him quizzically.  The kid was speaking gibberish.

“It’s the Odyssey again.  The Scylla was a monster,” Oliver explained further.

Moving away from the radio, Slade began to gather up supplies and put it into a pack

“What are you doing?” Oliver asked.

“I want to meet this monster, am I going alone?”  Slade cocked a brow at Oliver.  He was sure the kid would refuse so he didn’t wait for a response, sealing up his bag and exiting the fuselage.

He had to admit he was a bit surprised when he heard the kid’s fumbling footsteps behind him.

“Wait, what about Yao Fei and Shado?  Shouldn’t we wait until they get back?”

“Nah, kid.  They probably won’t be back before dark anyway, and where we’re going isn’t too far from here.”

 

* * *

 

Fyers naming something after a mythological beast didn’t exactly instill a lot of confidence in Slade that what they would find was going to be good.  But he definitely wasn’t expecting…this.

A goddamn, _motherfucking_ missile launcher.

At first Oliver hadn’t seemed that phased but that’s because the kid had no idea the potential damage the thing could do.  Slade had described in no uncertain terms exactly what it was capable of; used correctly it could start a war.

Slade was relieved when he saw the men were also unloading a large shipment of explosives.

They waited for a few hours and when Fyers men cleared the area, leaving the missile launcher unguarded, Slade approached with Oliver in tow.

“We’re blowing it up,” Slade said as he started prying open crates of C4.

Oliver gave him an unimpressed look and wandered away from Slade who was stacking blocks of C4 around the launcher.  A few minutes later Oliver came back around the side of the launcher waving around something square that was about the size of his hand.

“It makes more sense to take the circuit board.  We can hold it for ransom and force Fyers to give us a way off the island.  Everybody wins,” Oliver smirked.

The little shit.  Slade really needed to start giving the kid more credit, he really was smart. 

But also very, _very_ stupid.

“You really consider letting that maniac have access to a missile launcher ‘winning’?”

“I-I don’t know, I just think we should _consider_ -” Oliver huffed.

“There’s nothing to consider; whatever their plan is it’s not going to be good.  In fact, it’s probably going to be catastrophic. 

We can’t take the risk.  We’ll find another way home.”

Slade returned to placing the C4 around the missile launcher, ignoring Oliver.  As he moved to place more C4 he hesitated.

 _Shit_ , maybe Oliver was right.

If they ransomed the device Fyers would _have_ to give into their demands.  There’s no way he had the missile launcher just for show, whatever his plan was it would hinge upon the weapon so without it he was up a creek.

And once they secured a way off the island Slade could call in ASIS to blow the bastard sky high before he even had a chance to use it.

Slade groaned.  He really didn’t like this plan, but it was their best option.

“Fine,” he said, moving away from the launcher.

“Really!?” Oliver squeaked.

Slade had to fight every urge in his body not to laugh and keep his expression serious.

“Yes, let’s go.”

When they both made it back to the plane around sunset Slade was surprised to find Yao Fei and Shado were back so soon.  The two stood in the center of the fuselage having a tense, hushed discussion in their native tongue.  Upon noticing their arrival, Yao Fei looked up sharply.

“We have a problem,” Yao Fei said.

Slade gave him a questioning look, but it was Shado who spoke.

“There’s a freighter off the coast.  My father is certain whoever they are, they’re not Fyers men.”

“That’s good right?  They could help us!” Oliver perked up beside him.

“Knowing this place, kid, I highly doubt they’re here to help.”

A tense silence filled the plane.  Slade wasn’t writing the freighter off completely as a potential means of escape, but he knew better than to blindly assume whoever was on it was friendly.

They’d need to be cautious, or else they could end up with a new enemy.

 

* * *

 

The next few days were quiet, but instead of being comforting the silence was oppressive.

By now Fyers would know the circuit board was gone.  He would probably also be aware of the new presence on the island.  Fyers should have been coming after them by now.

While Shado had continued Oliver’s training, Slade and Yao Fei had spent the better part of their days staking out the freighter.  They saw no signs of movement on or off the boat and Slade agreed with Yao Fei’s assessment that these men were not of Fyers’ camp.  If they were they would have docked, unloaded, and interacted with the soldiers. 

But none of that happened and the boat remained stationed in the bay. 

Even if they had wanted to make contact with the freighter to assess whether they were potential allies, that course of action would be unwise.  For now they needed to keep an eye out and gather any intelligence they could.

As the sun began to set Slade and Yao Fei gathered their things and headed back to the plane.  When they were close they came across Shado and Oliver practicing with the bow in the woods.  The pair hadn’t noticed them yet and Yao Fei had stopped to observe, so Slade did too.

Oliver’s technique seemed to have vastly improved as Slade watched him hit one of the trees in the distance.  Oliver smiled and turned to Shado who reached up to cup his face, pulling it down and pressing her lips gently against Oliver’s.  Slade felt his throat tighten.

Next to him, Yao Fei cleared his throat loudly.  Oliver and Shado pulled away from each other quickly.

“Uhh...” Oliver started.

Trust the kid to take an awkward situation and make it even more so.

“Nothing new with the boat, we should all head back to the plane for supper,” Slade said not looking at any of them in particular, especially not Yao Fei who was practically burning a hole in the side of his head with his stare.

Slade pulled away from the group and walked to the plane.  He could hear the others following behind him and he swallowed hard against the bile he could feel rising in his throat.

This didn’t change anything.  It didn’t _mean_ anything.

Really he should have guessed; it was inevitable considering the amount of time Oliver and Shado had been spending together, and Slade already knew the kid had lost interest in him.  So really Slade had no right to feel this way.  Shado was beautiful, strong, and intelligent; of course Oliver would want to be with her.  It made sense.

But as they ate dinner and Slade tried to ignore the silence; tried to ignore the slight shake to his hands and the twisting pull in his chest, he couldn’t make any sense of it no matter what he told himself.  It didn’t feel right, but what did his opinion on the subject matter?

He set his unfinished meal to the side and pushed himself to his feet.  Without a thought Slade left the plane and headed for the woods.  When he had made it far enough into the trees so as not to be seen or heard by the others he raised a fist, harshly striking the trunk of a tree.  He could feel his knuckles crack and his skin splinter at the contact, but he didn’t stop, pulling back his arm again and punching repeatedly. 

After a time he felt all his energy leave him and he leaned back against the bark he had previously been attacking.  He let out a long breath. 

This was all really quite stupid.

Slade pulled his gloves out of his pocket and slipped them over his hands to hide the damage.  When he returned to the fuselage nobody asked him where he’d gone, but Slade could once again feel Yao Fei’s heavy gaze on him while he ignored them all.

 

* * *

 

The next day Yao Fei suggested Slade and Oliver stake out the freighter, while he and Shado track Fyers and his men.  Slade had railed hard against the idea.

“Tā shì xíngdòng de zuì héhū luójí de guòchéng. Shado hé Oliver bìxū shòudào bǎohù. Wǒmen bùnéng ràng tāmen dúlì.  Zàishuō, nǐ hé nǐ de nán péngyǒu xūyào míbǔ yǐjīng,”* Yao Fei said sternly.  Shado’s eyes went a little wide after her father finished speaking but she quickly translated.

“My father thinks this is the most logical thing to do.  He says that Oliver and I shouldn’t be left alone because we need to be protected.”  Shado cast a glance to her father, and Slade couldn’t help but wonder if there was something she had left out.

Slade supposed the man was right but he’d rather not be alone with Oliver. 

Not that it mattered anyway.

“Fine,” Slade grunted. 

He didn’t look at Oliver as he left the plane, the kid would follow, he had no choice in the matter.  They walked towards the cliff that Yao Fei and himself had been using to stake out the freighter in silence.  When they were about halfway there Oliver spoke up from behind him.

“Slade?”

“Yeah, kid?”

“Uh, are you…are you mad at me about something?”  Oliver sounded hesitant and Slade stopped in his tracks, closing his eyes and letting out a sigh. 

 _What a fucking idiot_.

Slade wasn’t too sure if he was directing that at Oliver or himself.  He opened his eyes but didn’t turn around.

“Of course I’m not, I’ve got no reason to be,” Slade muttered before continuing to walk.  He heard Oliver follow him and they walked on in silence again. 

…Until a few minutes later, when Oliver broke the silence once more.

“I-I don’t know, you’ve just been kind of ignoring me lately so I thought maybe I did something that bothered you and-”

Slade spun around, holding himself back by a thread.

“If I’m remembering it correctly _you’re_ the one who’s been ignoring me kid, so whatever problem you think is between us is on _you_.”

Oliver scrunched up his face and huffed.

“Are you _fucking_ kidding me?  I’m not the one that goes from being sentimental to _handsy_ …t-to being a complete fucking jerk-off at the drop of a hat!  That’s _you_ Slade, so if you wanna pretend like I’m the one being obtuse that’s fine!  That’s just _great_!

But let’s be clear on one thing: I’ve tried _repeatedly_ to be your friend and all I’ve ever gotten to show for it was your bullshit reactions.”

Oliver started to walk away but before he could Slade grabbed him roughly by the arm.

“I’ve told you before Oliver:  We.  Are.  Not.  _Friends_.”

Slade let go and turned away, ready to end the conversation, but clearly the kid didn’t get the memo.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were jealous,” Oliver said in a hushed tone.

Slade clenched his fist and fought hard against the urge to turn around and make Oliver regret ever saying _that_.But Slade knew that would be a childish reaction, because ultimately, Oliver was right.  So Slade did nothing, letting the moment go, and continuing to move forward.  It wasn’t long before he heard Oliver steps pick back up behind him.

Despite the fact that they both said nothing Slade could feel the tension just bubbling below the surface.  He wanted to yell at Oliver, to scream, to tell him he was wrong.  But the kid wasn’t and that was the worst part. 

Slade _was_ jealous.

After being alone for so long he had fallen fast and hard for Oliver.  And just when it seemed the two of them were going to share _something_ , Slade had been handed a hard dose of reality and found out he had perceived the situation entirely wrong.  The kid didn’t return his feelings, he had just been caught up in the moment most likely. 

Oliver didn’t need Slade, not quite in the way that Slade needed Oliver.  That made Slade angry, and bitter.  He knew he had no right to blame Oliver for his own feelings but it was practically instinct.  Oliver hadn’t done anything wrong and that was probably the hardest part, because for all of this, Slade had no one to blame but _himself_.

Slade was so distracted by his thoughts he never saw the other men in the woods.  He had no idea anything was wrong until he realized very suddenly he could no longer hear Oliver’s footsteps behind him.

He whipped around and took stock of his surroundings; there was nothing, no one there.  Backtracking from where he’d come he looked for the kid or any sign of where Oliver had gone.  Slade began to panic as an hour stretched by, followed quickly by another, as he continued to search the woods.  He even went back to the plane eventually, but Oliver was nowhere to be found.

 

* * *

 

In the coming days Yao Fei and Shado would have to work hard to contain Slade, as time and time again the man tried to leave the plane to search for Oliver.  Usually, they’d be able to talk him out of it but some moments were more difficult than others.  Yao Fei would have Shado stay with Slade while he’d go off and try to find any trace of Oliver.

They would come to the consensus that Oliver most likely had gotten taken by Fyers' men, and for the time being Fyers would keep him alive and try to get information about the circuit board out of him.

When the radio crackled to life five days after Oliver had gone missing, they learned their theory had been wrong; Oliver was on the freighter.  And from the way his message was cut off it would seem it was not under peaceful circumstances.

 

* * *

 

The night after they heard Oliver over the radio Slade sat outside the fuselage next to the small fire leftover from cooking dinner.  Shado had gone inside not long ago, after spending a few hours keeping him company.  At first he had found her presence a bit condescending.  He knew they were just trying to keep an eye on him.  But as they carried on a conversation he found her being there with him was comforting.  It’s not that she didn’t trust him; she was just worried about him.

And Slade really couldn’t blame her, he _had_ been acting quite rashly lately, but he also wouldn’t feel bad about it.  After all, he needed to save Oliver.  Now that they knew the kid was on the freighter it was just a matter of finding the means to get there and bring him back.

Slade sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face.  He couldn’t stop thinking about the last conversation he’d had with Oliver and how it was his fault Oliver had been taken.  How could he have been so wrapped up in all his own bullshit that he didn’t even notice Oliver was gone?

None of that mattered though, because they _would_ get Oliver back and he would apologize for being such an ass.  He’d tell Oliver whatever the kid needed to hear to fix what had broken between them; there was still time to change the direction they were headed.

As the fire died, leaving only a few embers, Slade heard a noise at the edge of the clearing.  He quickly stood, pulling a sword from his back, and moved over to tap the side of the plan alerting Yao Fei and Shado that something was wrong.  Hopefully they’d have time to run.

A group of three emerged from the trees in the distance and started to approach the plane.  Slade’s hold on his sword relaxed when he saw one of them was Oliver.  None of the three had weapons and the other two seemed apprehensive.  It seemed Oliver had picked up some strays. 

When they were only a few feet from the fire the group stopped, and Slade took note of the young girl and the older man flanking Oliver.

“Slade,” Oliver said, “This is Anatoly Knyazev and Sara…Sara Lance.”

“They’re trustworthy?”  Slade didn’t bother sizing up the other two, he wanted Oliver’s opinion on the matter.

“ _Yes_ ,” Oliver said firmly.

“Good,” Slade responded.  He instructed them all to follow him and they went inside the plane, where Yao Fei and Shado waited, on alert.  Oliver hastily introduced the newcomers and seemed like he was about to explain what had happened when he was cut off by Slade.

“Kid…a word?”  Slade motioned for Oliver to follow him, and Oliver did.  They left the fuselage and went back out by the fire.

“Listen, Slade I-” Oliver began to speak but Slade quickly cut him off, grabbing him by the back of the neck and forcing Oliver’s mouth against his.

Slade didn’t care if Oliver didn’t want him; he didn’t care that Oliver wanted Shado now, he needed this moment and hopefully Oliver would let him have it.

Pressing his lips softly against Oliver’s, Slade pushed his fingers through the younger man’s hair, tugging carefully.  He had been so worried Oliver was hurt, or worse, and it was an indescribable relief to have him back again.

Oliver hadn’t moved much since Slade had taken hold of him, and Slade wanted a response; any kind of response.  He pressed his mouth more firmly against Oliver’s, and then licked gently at his lips.  Oliver groaned but reached up and pushed Slade away harshly.

“You don’t get to do that to me,” Oliver said bitterly before storming away, back into the plane.

Slade looked up at the sky but there wasn’t much to see.  The night was cloudy and no stars, nor the moon, were visible.

He wondered how he could have ever been foolish enough to think that he’d meant something to Oliver when the kid had made it clear time and time again that he didn’t.

After Slade went back into the plane he half-listened, picking out the important details, as Oliver explained to the group what had happened to him on the freighter and about the man named Anthony Ivo.

Apparently, Ivo was looking for a crashed World War II-era Japanese submarine and thanks to Sara, the girl who had been on the yacht with Oliver, they had a picture that could help guide them to its location.

Oliver was convinced if they got to it before Ivo, and their chances were good seeing as they were familiar with the island, then they could hold want Ivo wanted against him, same as Fyers with the circuit board.

All in all it wasn’t a bad plan, but Slade couldn’t help but feel like they were playing with fire.

 

* * *

 

Slade stayed behind with Anatoly, the following day, while the rest of the group went off to find the location in the picture.  Slade had recognized it himself, but so had Yao Fei so he hadn’t spoken up.

Oliver wasn’t just ignoring Slade, at this point, he was reacting _badly_  to him.  Slade wanted to put as much distance between him and the kid as he could; he couldn’t stand to see Oliver flinch whenever he got too close.

“Без труда́ не вы́тащишь и ры́бку из пруда́,” Anatoly said, interrupting Slade’s thoughts as he whittled away at the piece of wood.

“ _And that means_?”  Slade knew the bastard spoke English fluently.

“Without effort, you won’t pull a fish out of a pond,” Anatoly was looking at him quite smugly and Slade found that exceptionally irritating.

“Oh, yeah? Thanks for the advice,” Slade muttered, wanting very much for the other man to shut up already.

“Anything worth having in life requires effort; you cannot expect Oliver to just lay himself at your feet.  The boy cares for you but he is young and scared.  You need to talk to him.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to me, like it’s any of your goddamn business…”

“Oliver spoke a lot about you while he was on the ship.”

Anatoly gave him a knowing look and Slade felt uncomfortable.  He was surprised to hear that.  Slade didn’t say anything else and neither did Anatoly.  They spent the rest of the day in relative silence until the others returned.

They hadn’t found the sub but Oliver had brought back a stone arrowhead with some sort of inscription and Shado was lugging the skeleton of a Japanese soldier.

“We may not have found the submarine, but I have a plan,” Oliver was grinning a bit wildly and as Oliver explained his plan Slade felt a strange sort of unease settle in his gut.  Objectively, it wasn’t a bad idea, but chances were they’d all end up dead if things didn’t work out just right.

Everyone else seemed to like Oliver’s idea so Slade didn’t voice his doubts, and Oliver didn’t ask him what he thought.

 

* * *

 

The following morning they set Oliver’s plan into motion.  All it took was tapping into the right radio frequencies, and two short exchanges with both Fyers and Ivo and they were ready to go.

Everyone in their little group seemed quite confident in their plan, but the uncertainty was there in the back of Slade's mind.  As the group started out, heading towards the meeting place Slade couldn’t hold his tongue any longer; he got Oliver’s attention.

“Kid,” Slade said.  Oliver turned away from Shado and Sara and faced him.  He hesitated for a moment, looking back at the two girls before walking over to Slade.

“What?” he asked stiffly.

“This plan…” Slade began, “It’s dangerous.  If it succeeds we’ll get out of here and that’s great, but the chances of failure are high.  The outcome isn’t something we can predict; there are too many factors to consider and the likelihood of it resulting in just chaos is-”

“ _Slade_ ,” Oliver hissed, cutting him off.  “We’re doing this, we all decided on it and of course there are risks!  There is nothing we can do at this point that _won’t_ have risks so just join us or fuck off okay!”

By the end of his statement Oliver was yelling and Slade felt any hope that he and Oliver could reconcile shrivel up and die.  It was becoming clear to Slade that maybe Oliver didn’t just _not_ like him…maybe he hated him.

Slade didn’t respond to Oliver, just made his way around him in order to follow Yao Fei, ignoring the stares of Sara and Shado while he passed.

 

* * *

 

When the group started to make their way down the embankment, towards the river, Slade felt apprehension take a firm hold in his chest.  The day was cloudy, but the air was hot and sticky and without a breeze he was finding it hard to breathe.

Ahead of them there was a large river, which according to their maps cut through the island, before making its way out to the sea.  It was a large and definitive landmark that was far enough away from their camp as to not give away their location and also far enough away from any of Fyers’ so his men wouldn’t have that advantage: it made the perfect meeting spot.  And for Ivo’s men all the terrain was unfamiliar so any place was sufficient in that regard.

Oliver’s plan had been simple but also overwhelmingly complex.  They would contact both Fyers and Ivo, telling both the men they had what they wanted, in Fyers case the circuit board, in Ivo’s case the location of the submarine (even though that was a lie).  They would tell the men they wanted to make a trade; their desired object for safe passage off the island.  Of course, both of the men would agree to the terms, but neither of them would be telling the truth.  They’d sooner kill them and take what they wanted then help Oliver and the rest get home.

So what could be done about that?

What do you do when you have two separate but equally threatening groups on your heals?

_You pit them against each other._

But in a situation like this there were no guarantees and that is why Slade was so reluctant.  For starters, the two men could just decide to work together to get rid of them.  The friend of my enemy is a friend of mine and all that.  Of course, knowing Fyers, Slade didn’t think that would happen even though it could.  Fyers was a proud man and would probably just want to destroy Ivo’s group and take from them what he could.

So yes, the pitting them against each other part would probably succeed.  But even then they had no way of predicting how that would go.  Oliver and the others hoped it meant they would destroy each other, leaving them open to take advantage of their distraction, and escape the island in some fashion.  There was too much reliance on luck in that scenario for Slade, and he really wished everyone hadn’t been so blind as to not see that.

When they made it to the river bank they found they were the first ones there, which was not a surprise seeing as they had planned to be there a few hours before the scheduled meeting time of midday.  Oliver, Sara, Shado, and Anatoly sat near the river bank and started to discuss the plan again.  Slade broke off from the group to survey the area and get a sense of what was in the vicinity.  Once he felt satisfied he knew the lay of the land he sat on a large boulder a good ways away from the rest of the group; waiting.

Yao Fei sat down next to him and spoke.

“This plan is bad.  But we don’t have another choice.”  _Good_.  At least someone else got it.

“Yes we do, we go back to the plane and let Fyers and Ivo piss all over each other if they want.  Then we take our time and come up with a _better_ plan than this shit,” Slade motioned around them. 

Nothing had happened yet but he already hated this place.  He had always trusted his intuition, and up until this moment in his life that had served him well.  So to ignore his instincts, which were currently screaming at him that this was _wrong_ , was making him anxious.

“If we wait, then they come for us and we die.  We must do this,” Yao Fei said with finality.

Slade groaned.  Fine, he’d go along with this shit plan, but when it all went to hell he wouldn’t refrain from saying ‘I told you so’.

 

* * *

 

Later, when Fyers and about twenty of his men emerged from the trees Oliver baited him by saying if he wanted his circuit board back he’d have to take care of ‘ _them_ ’ referring to Ivo and his group of a little over ten who had just arrived themselves.  When Ivo demanded to know what was going on Oliver explained quite loudly that Fyers and his men knew exactly where the submarine was because they were here for it as well.

It only took a few well worded sentences to get the groups to focus on each other instead of them.  Neither Fyers nor Ivo questioned whether Oliver was lying and Slade was slightly bemused at how the two professional killers were being strung along by a twenty-something socialite slash college dropout.

When the shooting started it was impossible to tell whose side had shot first, but that didn’t matter he supposed.  The two groups clashed; shouting and bullets ripping through the air in all directions.  Sara, Shado, Anatoly, Oliver and Yao Fei all ran for cover, Slade following closely behind.

 

* * *

 

Oliver ran until he couldn’t hear the guns any longer, routinely checking to making sure all of his friends were still with him.  When the coast seemed clear Oliver stopped to catch his breath.  He looked back at everyone; he couldn’t believe they’d all made it  _but thank fucking God_.

Sara wrapped her arms around him in a warm embrace and Oliver let out a breathy chuckle.

“It worked,” Oliver gasped.

“I know!”  Sara said. 

She was smiling and Oliver still couldn’t believe he had found her.  Whereas before this place had felt like hell, Oliver was starting to believe it might not be that bad after all.  Oliver looked up when he heard Shado let out a distressed cry.

Shado was on her knees on the forest floor, kneeling next to Slade.  The man was sitting propped against a tree, arms wrapped tightly around his stomach.  Oliver quickly let go of Sara and stumbled over to the two of them.

“What’s wrong-” his sentence cut off as he watched Shado pull Slade’s arms away.

Sticking out of Slade’s lower abdomen was the hilt of a large knife, and blood was gushing up from around the blade staining his clothing.  Slade was taking short, gasping breaths, staring down at the knife.

“Told you the plan was shit,” he said, struggling to breathe.

Oliver’s legs gave out beneath him and he fell down onto his knees next to Slade.  He was vaguely aware that his eyes were burning and there was a sharp ache in his chest.

“You’ll be fine, everything will be fine,” Oliver whispered while Shado attempted to stabilize the knife and demanded Oliver give her his shirt so she could wrap the wound.  Oliver listened obediently, not really paying attention as he stared at Slade.

“I don’t think so, kid, not this time.”  

Despite Slade’s obvious anguish there was a smirk on his face.

 

* * *

 

Much later, after the group had worked together to get Slade back to the plane without bleeding out, Sara pulled Oliver to the side.

“Slade doesn’t have to die, Oliver,” Sara whispered.

Oliver didn’t say anything, Shado had already explained to him the severity of Slade’s injury and how now it was only a matter of time until the man was gone.

“I _mean_ it, Ollie.  It’s what Ivo is looking for on the submarine; a drug that can heal anything…it’s called Mirakuru.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *translation (once again, used google translate for this, let me know if you spot errors): "It is the most logical course of action. Shado and Oliver must be protected. We cannot leave them alone. Besides, you and your boyfriend need to make up already."
> 
> *laughs maniacally* 
> 
> I would say I'm sorry but I'm not!
> 
> When I first had the idea to write this one from Slade's perspective I was intimidated by how 'hard' it was but then it just ended up being a lot of fun bc SLADE...! Love that guy.
> 
> Also so much more angst and pining then I thought would happen but alas, I guess Slade just can't help his feelings...
> 
> Thanks again to everyone for reading/liking/commenting! I've been getting some amazing comments from you all and I just love it so much <3 Writing this has been a ton of fun!
> 
> Fun fact, despite the cliche of it all, this chapter was heavily inspired by the Led Zeppelin tune 'Stairway to Heaven'.
> 
> Up next: These two emotionally constipated men are going to have to face their biggest fears and *gasp* admit they like each other! OMG. Also sex....probably *shrugs*


	7. A Long Way from Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh...that explicit rating is _officially_ in full effect with this chapter (updated the warnings!).
> 
> Prepare thyself for not a lot of plot but angst, sorrow, fluff, and filth instead! xoxo

_“Heaven help a fool who falls in love.”_

- _Ophelia_ , The Lumineers

 

* * *

 

They had been searching for the submarine for the better part of two days, and really it was a miracle that Slade had even made it this far.  Shado had been doing her best to take care of him; cleaning the wound, changing the bandages, and using her father’s herbs to fight off infection.

But Slade had lost all feeling to his lower body shortly after they got him to the plane, and even though his wound wasn’t bleeding profusely it didn’t seem to want to close, oozing out blood at regular intervals.

When Oliver had Sara explain to everyone that they could save Slade if they found the submarine, they were met with mixed reactions.  Not that they didn’t want to save Slade, but at this point it seemed the man could die at any given moment and with Fyers and Ivo still out there it was dangerous to go wandering around.  Especially considering the men were now in opposition with each other.

But Oliver had pleaded with his friends; they needed to do everything they could to save Slade.  If they didn’t then they might as well join Fyers because what made them any different from him?

So they went back to the cave, hoping to find something that could point them in the direction of the sub, something they had missed the first time.  But they found nothing and against the protests of his friends Oliver went off to try and find it the good old fashioned way: by looking.

Yao Fei had ordered the others back to the plane where they had left behind Shado to watch over Slade.  Oliver wandered aimlessly around the island with Yao Fei in tow until darkness had settled around them.  Then Yao Fei all but dragged him back to the fuselage.

The next day had been the same, but then they’d all gone with him save Shado.

When Oliver made to leave the plane that morning to search again, Yao Fei held him back.

“We need to find the submarine, we shouldn’t be wasting _time_ -” Oliver pleaded.

“I know, Oliver,” Yao Fei said, “But you need to rest.  We will look today; _you_ stay with Slade.”

Yao Fei looked pointedly in the corner of the plane that Oliver had been resolutely ignoring.  Oliver swallowed against the dryness in his throat.

“Please,” he said in a hushed tone, “Just _let me do this_.”

Oliver could feel the hot sting of tears in his eyes and Yao Fei looked sympathetic but the man didn’t waver.

“No, you will stay.” 

Oliver turned away from the other man with a frustrated sigh, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest that had been there since the river.  He really didn’t want them to leave him here.

He felt a hand on his arm.

“Oliver.”

He turned to see Shado standing there and the ache in his chest eased a bit.  He always felt shocked by how much comfort her presence could bring him.

 “I’ll be going with them too.  Don’t worry about Slade’s wound…I changed the bandage this morning.  But you do need to watch him.  Make sure he doesn’t sleep for too long and make sure he eats something and has plenty of water.  Okay?”

She squeezed his arm a little when he didn’t respond.

“Shouldn’t you stay too?  I mean what if something _happens_ and-”

“Oliver,” she said calmly, “At this point the only thing we can do for him is what I told you.  I have to go with the others, they need as much back up as they can get.  You’ll be fine, I promise.

Besides, don’t you think it’s about time you talked to him?”

Oliver pulled away from her sharply and tried to get a handle on his breathing, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

“I-I don’t think I can,” he whispered.

Shado wrapped her arms tightly around him, Oliver hesitantly reciprocated.

“Maybe you can’t, but you need to.”

 

* * *

 

Slade had been sleeping since the others left, and a few hours had already passed.  All Oliver had done since then was pace.  And stare at the wall.  Occasionally he would spare a glance at Slade to make sure the man was still breathing, but his gaze wouldn’t linger.

The only sounds that accompanied Oliver was the gentle whoosh of the wind against the side of the fuselage, the distant cry of the island’s birds, and the harsh, wheezing intakes of breath from Slade.

Oliver knew he should wake Slade soon but even the thought of it was filling him with anxiety.

The last thing Oliver said to Slade was when he told the man he was going to be okay; since then Oliver had been doing everything in his power to avoid him.  Which he _knew_ was stupid.

Slade was going to die.  Oliver was certain of that. 

The whole thing with the submarine was a shot in the dark: a Hail Mary.  If it actually, _somehow_ , ended up working then Oliver would believe anything was possible.

But odds were they wouldn’t find the sub.  And even if they did they had no way of knowing if the drug Sara talked about would still be there, and even if it _was_ they had no guarantees it would work. 

So yeah, Slade was going to die.  Oliver had been trying his very best to pretend like that wasn’t going to happen and that was hard to do when you were staring the dying man in his face. 

_Fuck, why’d they have to leave him here?_

Oliver took a deep breath and stole a glance at Slade; _still breathing, still here_.

Turning away, Oliver sat down with his back against the side of the plane.  He pulled out his father’s book and started worrying the pages.

Just as he had been avoiding Slade he had also been avoiding _thinking about_ Slade, but being stuck in the plane with the man himself wasn’t exactly making that easy.

After Shado and Yao Fei had joined Oliver and Slade, Oliver started to distance himself from the older man.  He figured that was the smart move, because his feelings for Slade were starting to overwhelm him and with the way that Slade had acted during and after the supply plane fiasco, Oliver guessed Slade didn’t want any sort of relationship between them.

Whether Slade actually cared for him or not, Oliver had no idea; if he had to guess he would say yes, but it was obvious that those feelings weren't important to Slade.  What _was_ important was getting off this island and from the beginning Oliver had known Slade wasn’t interested in trusting anyone or forming bonds.  Of course, he’d had to in order to survive, but that didn’t mean any sort of unnecessary involvement was needed.

And Oliver understood that, _sort of_.

So he’d started training with Shado, and tried not to interact with Slade any more than was necessary.

Of course he would have never expected the reaction he got.  Really, he thought Slade wouldn’t even be phased by it, but the man had seemed angry with him; most obviously so after he and Shado shared a kiss.  _Which was a complete misunderstanding in itself_.

For Oliver, Shado was like a breath of fresh air.  Lian Yu had been almost nothing but suffering and frustration.  Even in his happier moments with Slade, Oliver had still been bogged down by doubt and uncertainty.

But when he was with Shado he didn’t feel the need to worry about anything.  She was strong and patient, and more than once he found himself just staring at her, smiling.  If he hadn’t already been caught up in Slade he might have fallen for her.

When she kissed him he was surprised.  Later though, he realized that how he had been acting around her had really been sending off the wrong signals.  So he had apologized, and she told him with a small smile on her face that there was no need.

What was thoroughly confusing to everyone involved was Slade’s reaction to the kiss.  Oliver didn’t know if the man had thought he was being subtle but he _really wasn’t_.

After Yao Fei and Slade had interrupted Shado and Oliver’s moment, Slade had stormed off.  Then while they all ate in silence, Slade had sat there, practically fuming, before storming off again. 

Yao Fei spoke to Shado in Chinese in quick, rapid sentences.  Oliver could hardly pick out two words he knew (Shado had been teaching him), but he was sure one of them was ‘idiot’.

Shado’s eyes went wide and she looked over at Oliver.

“You and Slade are…together?” she asked.

Oliver tried not to choke on his food.

“No, we’re not we’re just-”

“They are lovesick fools and they are going to get us killed,” Yao Fei interrupted.

Oliver genuinely had no response to that and the conversation died off as he tried to hide his embarrassment.  Until him and Shado discussed the matter later in private.

As much as Yao Fei seemed annoyed by their relationship he also seemed to want them to fix it; making sure the next day that him and Slade had time alone together.  Of course, that had just ended up making things worse.

Oliver had no idea how Slade had any right to be angry with him.  The man being distant was the reason Oliver had chosen to be distant because that’s what he thought Slade _wanted_.

And then Oliver had gotten captured. _Again_.Really, at this point, they should just put ‘Damsel in Distress’ on his tombstone.

The freighter had been exactly the opposite of what Oliver expected, but he really had no basis for speculation in these sorts of situations so that wasn’t saying much.  Finding Sara alive had been equally wonderful and horrifying as he learned she was working for the man in charge.

Oliver was glad he had Anatoly when he was locked up; otherwise he might have gone crazy.  The man talked to him for hours on end and seemed very willing to give him advice.  Oliver should be embarrassed that he had spent so much time bemoaning his situation with Slade to a stranger while imprisoned on a boat…but he wasn’t.

For what felt like a long time coming Oliver had known he was developing feelings for Slade.  First he blamed it on his need for help and protection; then he’d blamed it on lust and dependence.  But Oliver didn’t have any more excuses for his desire to have a relationship with Slade.

Not only did Oliver want to survive this place, but he wanted more than anything for Slade to survive it too; if the other man couldn’t make it out how could he?  Oliver had recognized early on how capable Slade was in every sense of the word.  He had survived the un-survivable and hardly seemed phased by it.

Slade made Oliver want to be _better_ , and this was a feeling Oliver was familiar with: it’s the same way Laurel had always made him feel.  But instead of running scared, like he had so many times before, Oliver wanted to face that feeling head on with Slade by his side.

_Trust him not to realize something that important until it was too late._

Oliver wished he hadn’t pulled away from Slade; he wished he’d just told the man how he’d felt.  He had no guarantees Slade would reciprocate but words unsaid weighed heavier on the soul than rejection.

Taking in a shaking breath Oliver pressed his fingertips against his eyelids as tears welled behind them again.  From the other side of the plane Oliver heard a quiet groan.  Oliver’s heart skipped a beat and the urge to run overtook him.  He didn’t want to face Slade like this.

But what Oliver wanted didn’t matter, not as much as what they both needed.

_Closure._

Oliver hesitantly got up from the floor and walked over to Slade, noticing the other man was sitting up, back against the side of the plane.  His head was tilted back and his eyes were open slightly, looking up at the crack in the roof of the fuselage where light was filtering through.  Without a word Oliver sat down next to the man.

“I always knew I’d die here,” Slade said weakly.

Oliver swallowed past the lump in his throat.  He wanted to tell the other man he wouldn’t; that they were going to save him, but he couldn’t find the will to do so.

“I’m sorry,” Oliver whispered.

“Nothing to be sorry for, kid.”  Slade had closed his eyes and Oliver felt the tears start to spill down his face.

“I should’ve listened to you…I should’ve-” Oliver was trying to control his breathing but his words came out with gasping breaths.

“The plan sucked, but you were right we had no choice,” Slade was looking over at him now and Oliver tried to wipe away the tears from his face, cursing his own lack of self-control.

“No, _we did_ , and I made the wrong one.”

Oliver looked away, feeling a pang of guilt.  After a few moments of silence he was figuring out what to say next when he felt Slade grasp his hand.  The hold he had been trying to keep over his emotions shattered and he leaned to the side, head resting on Slade’s shoulder, gripping his hand tightly, while he cried.

“S’okay, kid,” Slade said, rubbing his thumb gently over Oliver’s knuckles.  Oliver recalled the last time the man had said that to him, when he’d felt so broken he could hardly breathe.  But Slade had been right _then_ : because Oliver was with him again and far away from Fyers and his men.  This time though, Slade was wrong. 

Oliver felt like screaming.

“No…it’s not,” he sobbed.

“You’ll be fine without me.  You’ve got Yao Fei, Sara and Anatoly; you’ve got Shado.  You’ll make it home…I promise.”  Slade sounded tired, and he had taken to leaning his head against Oliver’s.

“I don’t want that, not without you,” Oliver confessed.

“Kid…” Slade began, but was interrupted when he let out a wheezing cough; hand moving away from Oliver’s in order to wrap his arm around his abdomen.  The other man groaned loudly and Oliver suddenly felt very frightened. _No, not yet_.

Oliver scrambled, looking for the canteen of water Shado had left for Slade.  He found it a few seconds later, unscrewing it with shaking hands.  Taking hold of Slade’s shoulder with one hand, Oliver brought the canteen forward with the other. 

“Here, drink,” Oliver said softly, placing the canteen against Slade’s lips.  Slade obliged, taking small sips of the water.

Soon, Slade was drifting off again and Oliver moved back to his side, once again placing his head on Slade’s shoulder, just listening to the other man breathe.

 

* * *

 

As the evening set in, orange light flooding the plane, Oliver wondered if he should wake Slade again; the man hadn’t yet eaten today.  He didn’t have a chance to though, as Shado followed by her father and the others entered through the side of the fuselage.  Oliver looked up at Shado, who gave him a small smile when she saw where he was.  Before Oliver could ask if they’d had any luck Sara spoke up.

“Ollie, we know where to find the sub,” a grin had overtaken Sara’s face and Oliver felt his heart leap in his chest.  He carefully pulled himself away from Slade and stood, walking over to the group.

“We ran into Ivo and his men in the woods...thought we we’re screwed to be honest but they didn’t notice us, so Yao Fei shadowed them.”  Sara looked over at Yao Fei beaming, and the man actually smiled a bit in return.

“Ivo was telling his men to find the Hōzen, that it would lead them to the submarine,” Yao Fei said matter-of-factly.

“Wha-” Oliver started but Shado cut him off.

“A hōzen is a symbol in Buddhism: it’s an arrowhead.”

When she finished speaking Shado held up the stone arrowhead they had found in the cave with the dead Japanese soldiers.  He scrunched up his face not quite sure how the arrowhead got them to the submarine and why everyone was acting so damn smug about it.

“I gave it a closer look,” Shado continued, “The back has an inscription that I couldn’t make sense of before because it’s just numbers.”

“But they’re not just numbers,” Sara added, “They’re coordinates.”

 _To the submarine,_ Oliver thought, his eyes widening. 

“We have to go _now,_ ” Oliver said with finality.  Yao Fei looked at him sternly.

“It will be dark soon; we will go in the morning.”

“Slade might not make it to the morning,” Oliver yelled. 

Everyone was silent as Oliver’s voice echoed through the fuselage.  _He wasn’t going to back down._

“I’ll go by myself if I have to, but I’m going _tonight_.”

Through hell or high water Oliver was going to try his damnedest to save Slade, and now that he had the means in his sights there was no way he’d waste any more time.

“I’m going too,” Sara responded.

She was looking at him with a sort of seriousness that Oliver had only recently found she was capable of.  Whatever she had suffered on Ivo’s freighter, it was just as bad as what he’d been through here, he knew that for sure.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll go too,” Shado said.

“Bù, nǐ bù huì de!”* Yao Fei replied angrily.

“Wǒ huì bāngzhù wǒ de péngyǒu.  Nǐ bùnéng zǔzhǐ wǒ!”** Shado argued. 

“Háizi shì yúchǔn de,”*** Yao Fei muttered under his breath.  Shado ignored him. 

“We’ll get there Oliver, don’t worry,” Shado reached out and rubbed his shoulder gently.  Oliver felt a swelling in his chest and he wanted to cry again; he wasn’t sure how he’d made such good friends, he really didn’t deserve them, but he was _glad_. 

“Thanks.”  He placed a hand over Shado’s and smiled at her sadly. 

“And I'll stay here,” Anatoly added, finally joining the conversation, “I don't think Yao Fei can handle that stubborn man by himself, and I could use the rest.” 

Oliver gave the other man a nod, completely understanding.  

As they all made ready to leave, Oliver went over to Slade and knelt beside him, nudging his shoulder gently.  Slade stirred, opening his eyes.

“Hey,” Oliver whispered. 

“Kid?” Slade asked groggily. 

“Yeah, listen: we know where the sub is.  I’m going with Sara and Shado to get the Mirakuru.  Just hold on until then…okay?”  Oliver’s grip on his shoulder got a little tighter. 

“I can’t promise that, kid,” Slade said. 

“Please.” 

Slade reached a hand up, placing it against the side of Oliver’s face.  _He was so pale_. 

“We’ll see.” 

Oliver didn’t like that answer.  He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Slade’s and closing his eyes. 

“ _Please_ ,” he whispered again, begging.  Slade’s fingers tightened a bit against Oliver’s neck but he didn’t say anything.  Oliver took in a shaking breath and pressed his lips against Slade’s, vehemently ignoring the churning in his stomach. 

“I love you,” Oliver sighed.  Slade’s grip was now bruising. 

“ _I’m sorry, kid_ ,” Slade wheezed. 

“For what?” 

“Not telling you how I really felt.” 

Oliver placed another soft kiss to the man’s lip.  The irony that Slade _still_ wasn’t telling Oliver how he felt wasn’t lost on him, but he wasn’t going to try to force the man into it. 

“S’okay,” Oliver whispered before pulling away completely. 

As they left the plane Oliver tried not to think about how that might have been the last time he talked to Slade, but at least, for the first time in his life he’d been able to tell someone how he felt about them, regardless of how they felt in return.

 

* * *

 

The journey to the submarine was quiet, as Oliver didn’t really feel much like talking.  Sara kept casting glances in his direction; he hadn’t said anything to her about him and Slade so the exchange the two men shared before they left the plane must have been a surprise to her.  He was glad she didn’t question him about it. 

“In case you were wondering: I’m not straight,” Oliver said. 

Sara stumbled, nearly tripping onto the forest floor, and Oliver could’ve sworn he heard Shado snort. 

“I’m not gay, either,” Oliver added. Sara laughed. 

“You don’t need to explain it to me Ollie, _I get it_ ,” she smirked at him. “You’re bi.” 

“I don’t like labels,” Oliver huffed.  Sara laughed again, louder this time. 

“Alright then you’re just,” she followed her statement by shrugging. 

“Yes,” Oliver agreed. 

“Me too.” 

“Yeah?” 

“ _Yeah_.” 

Oliver and Sara shared a smile, and Oliver looked over at Shado to gauge her reaction.  He expected to find her amused but instead he noticed she was distinctly not looking at them and she was blushing.  _Interesting_. 

He knew Shado didn’t care about people’s sexualities, after all she had already been aware of his relationship with Slade and hadn’t had a problem with it, and in fact she’d encouraged him.  Oliver noticed Sara was looking over at Shado too, still smiling.  Oliver was suddenly very suspicious and he had a _theory_ regarding their strange behavior.  But it wasn’t his business so he wouldn’t say anything.  _For now_.

 

* * *

 

When they came across the lagoon, just as the sun was finishing its trek towards the ground, Oliver was shocked.  Here they were, far inland, and before them the submarine sat sticking out of the water like it belonged there. 

“It must’ve come in through a fissure underneath the island,” Shado said, amazement clear in her voice. 

“Let’s go,” Oliver said urgently, wanting nothing more than to find the serum and get back to Slade as soon as possible.   

Up until now the idea of saving Slade and been nothing more than just that: a concept.  But now with the submarine in his sights he felt more the ever the possibility that he could save the man; that Slade could live to fight another day and stay by Oliver’s side. 

They descended the slope in the forest floor, down to the water’s edge.  When they made it they removed their packs, Shado laying her father’s bow down carefully, not wanting to get anything important wet.   

It didn’t take long to wade from the shore to the submarine, and Oliver grabbed a hold of the ladder going up the side.  Shado and Sara followed him down through the hatch and into the sub.  Oliver clicked on a flashlight he’d kept in his chest pocket. 

“C’mon, we need to be quick,” Oliver ordered. 

They all started looking around the submarine, opening cabinets and shuffling through drawers.  He heard Shado shout from the back room. 

“I found it!” 

Oliver hurried to her side and grabbed it from her hands.   

“Good, let’s go,” he said exasperatedly.  _They needed to get back to Slade_. 

“Wait,” Sara said sternly, “We can’t administer it without a sedative.” 

Shado nodded and named off sedatives that could work as she shuffled through more cabinets…only to find empty vials. 

“There’s nothing left...what happens if we give Slade the Mirakuru without a sedative?” she asked. 

“He’ll die.”   

Oliver felt any hope he had drain from his body. 

“Well he’s going to die anyway,” he snapped, turning to leave the sub.  Sedative be damned Oliver was going to try and save Slade.  He halted in his tracks when he heard movement above them.  _Someone else was here_. 

“Ivo,” Sara whispered, “He found us.” 

The three of them just stood there; at this point there was nothing to be done.  They were stuck in a metal tube completely at the mercy of whoever was about to come down the ladder. 

When Oliver saw that the men who entered the submarine were dressed in all black, rifles at the ready and balaclavas covering their faces he was a bit surprised.  He had assumed, like Sara, that it would’ve been Ivo and his men.  But, no, it was Fyers. 

Oliver cringed when the man himself came down the ladder last.  Oliver would really love to stab _him_ in the gut.  He was pleased to note though that for the first time ever Fyers’ appearance was disheveled: there was a large gash on his cheek and his right arm was wrapped in a sling.  In his left hand he held a pistol, which he was currently pointing at Oliver. 

“ _Mr. Queen_ ,” he hissed, “So nice it is to see you again.” 

Somehow, Oliver really doubted that. 

“The circuit board is gone, we destroyed it,” Oliver said. 

“Lies! I won’t fall for you charade this time.  Are you aware how many of my men I lost because of you? You’ve been nothing but a burden to me since you landed on this island and I will not stand for being usurped by an incompetent _child._

Tell me where to find the circuit board and I won’t kill your friends here.  Keep the information from me for even a second and they will die.  Choose!”  

Fyers face was red and he was spitting as he spoke.  Oliver was surprised by how undone the man had become. 

“Not a chance,” Oliver grinned.  He didn’t hesitate as he moved forward quickly, disarming Fyers with the move Slade had taught him.  As Oliver slammed his body to the ground the other men moved in, dragging him away by both arms and taking hold of Sara and Shado. 

From his position on the floor Fyers began to laugh a bit maniacally. 

“ _Well done_ , Mr. Queen.  For that I won’t kill your girlfriends just yet, but trust I will get the information out of you.” 

Fyers stood up with the help of one of his soldiers and ordered them to bring their captives back to camp.  It was awkward, but the soldiers managed to get Sara, Shado, Oliver, and the injured Fyers out of the submarine while still keeping control.  When they made it to the shore Oliver saw Shado’s bow sitting in the sand and he knew it was time to make his move. 

With a jerk he shoved his elbow back into the stomach of the soldier holding him.  Oliver turned and punched the man across the face as he bent over in pain.  The man fell to the ground, and Oliver grabbed the bow and an arrow from the quiver in a matter of seconds.  Turning again he aligned the arrow and pointed it in the direction of Fyers. 

Fyers laughed. 

“Now, now, Oliver, you may have killed before but I don’t think you have it in you this time.  Because if you do this, if you kill me, my men will not hesitate to slay the three of you where you stan-”   

Fyers words were cut off when Oliver loosed the arrow and it embedded deeply into his chest.  He stumbled back, eyes wide.  A gagging cough was the last sound Fyers made as he fell back onto the shore; dead.  _Oliver was really sick and tired of listening to that asshole speak_. 

But Fyers threatened retribution never came as his men took in his dead body.  The soldiers looked at him, looked at each other and then the ones holding onto Sara and Shado let go. 

“It’s about fuckin’ time,” one of them grumbled.  Another laughed.  The group ignored Oliver and the girls and made off into the woods. 

“ _Okayyyy_ ,” Sara said looking at Oliver questioningly.   

“I don’t even care right now; we’ll worry about it later.  We need to get back to the plane,” Oliver said, huffing out a breath.      

The three of them headed back into the forest, counting their lucky stars Fyers’ men apparently hated him as much as they did.  

 

* * *

 

When they made it back to the plane darkness had long since settled over the island.  Oliver was thankful they hadn’t run into any more trouble on the way back. 

Anatoly was sitting next to a fire outside the broken fuselage.  He glanced up when he saw them approaching. 

“You made it just in time…it’s not going to be long now.”  He shot Oliver a sympathetic look and Oliver felt his chest tighten. 

“We got the serum; Slade’s going to be fine.”  Oliver’s own voice sounded unsure to his ears.  He shuffled towards the plane, entering through the crack in the side. 

He was greeted with the sight and sounds of Slade struggling to breathe, Yao Fei holding onto his shoulder in a placating gesture.  Oliver inhaled sharply. 

“Hey, we’re back,” Oliver said trying to sound confident.  “We found the Mirakuru.” 

He attempted to feign a smile but it felt more like a cringe.  Yao Fei moved away from Slade and the look he was giving Oliver made it clear he wasn’t falling for the act.  Oliver moved over towards Slade and sat down next to him.  The man was staring off into the distance and looked drowsy but Oliver managed to get his attention by bringing the needle up in front of his face. 

“ _This_ ,” Oliver whispered, “Could either save you or…o-or it could kill you.” 

“From the looks of it, I’m going to die anyway, kid,” Slade gasped, clearly taking a lot of effort just to form a sentence.   

Oliver felt a hand on his right shoulder and Shado spoke up from behind him. 

“I can do it, Oliver, you don’t have to.” 

Oliver suddenly felt very grateful for Shado. 

“N-No,” he stuttered, “I’ll…I’ll do it.” 

Uncapping the needle with shaking hands, Oliver took in a deep breath.  He hesitated and looked up at Slade and it became clear to Oliver then, just by gazing into the man’s eyes what Slade felt for Oliver.  _Longing, Desire, Trust, Home, Love_.  Sure Slade hadn’t said what he felt, but Oliver knew in that moment and that was all that mattered. 

He plunged the needle into Slade’s thigh and pressed down the plunger, sending the Mirakuru flowing through his veins.  For a moment nothing happened and Oliver felt a tiny bit of relief settle over him.  _Maybe it would work…_  

And then Slade’s entire body started to seize.  Oliver grabbed onto his shoulder and he saw Shado kneel to hold down Slade’s other side.  Slade threw his head back, eyes shut tight, and he let out a howl of pain.  Blood started to pour in rivulets out of the man’s clenched eyelids and Oliver’s heart hammered wildly in his chest, panic gripping him.   

Just as soon as it had begun it was over.  Slade’s body went entirely lax and he wasn’t breathing. _No, no, no._  

“Is he…” Oliver whispered harshly. 

Shado reached out and pressed two fingers to Slade’s neck, her expression going blank after a moment. 

“I’m sorry, Oliver,” she said softly. 

Oliver froze, staring at Slade.  He could feel that the same familiar ache in his chest had intensified, clawing harshly just underneath his sternum.  His eyes filled with tears and he choked as a sob escaped his throat against his will.  Oliver covered his face with his hands and tried to fight against the empty, gaping hole he could feel forming inside of him.  

 _Please let this just be a nightmare._  

But he knew it wasn’t. 

In the next few moments Oliver was only vaguely aware of Anatoly coming into the plane, telling the others how he’d heard men in the forest nearby.  Oliver let Yao Fei usher him out of the plane and they all moved into the woods.  _But they had left Slade behind._

Oliver turned away from Yao Fei’s grasp and started back towards the plane.  Yao Fei grabbed him roughly by the shoulder. 

“ _We can’t leave him_ ,” Oliver said, voice almost a whine. 

“Oliver, he’s dead.” 

 _No._  

Yao Fei continued to push him along as they moved through the forest and Oliver let him.  Going back was a stupid idea, but Oliver felt like he was leaving part of himself behind.  He only half-paid attention to the conversation around him.

“Did they see the plane?” Sara asked.

“I don’t believe so, it sounded like they were far off.  I thought it best to move away quickly so even if they find it they have no reason to believe people had been there and it won’t be compromised,” Anatoly responded.

“Yeah but if they see the ash from the fire or go inside and see Slade they’ll know…”

“This is true, so, for now we stay away from the plane.  Then we can go back and check in a few days whether there are men waiting for us or not.”

Oliver completely tuned out their conversation, focusing instead on the ground below his feet, as he had nearly stumbled and fell a few times now.  Yao Fei still had a hand on his back, a steady weight pushing him forward.

One moment he was stepping over a rock, and the next he was looking up sharply and the sounds of a shout and hurried movements.  They were surrounded by men; men from the freighter.  One of them held up his rifle, waving it around and demanding they all drop their weapons.

Before they even had a chance to give into the order a large figure emerged from the trees, cutting the leader of the group down where he stood.  Oliver got a clear view of Slade as he struck out again and again, slashing the men, even going as far as cutting of one of their heads.  But what was most shocking, even more so then the fact that Slade was _alive,_ was when Slade struck a killing blow to the last man and he went soaring through the woods, back snapping as his body slammed into the trunk of a tree about thirty feet up from the ground before falling to the forest floor with a thud.

Slade stood in the center of the corpses, breathing heavily, covered in blood.

“So, I guess the serum worked,” he said, cracking a grin.

While everyone else hesitated, shock and horror plain on their faces, Oliver didn’t.

“You’re such a _jackass_ ,” Oliver laughed, feeling so relieved he could hardly breathe.

 

* * *

 

That night they made camp in the woods.  After Slade had washed the blood from his skin he settled down to rest gesturing at Oliver to join him.  Oliver settled by his side and Slade wrapped an arm around him, his hold tight but welcome.  Oliver sighed against his chest and fell into a dreamless sleep. 

The next day the group decided, after finding out that Fyers was now dead and his men were no longer under his control, that it would be necessary to find out as much as they could about what his remaining men were up to, and find out where Ivo was. Oh, and they had to go back and get the rest of the Mirakuru because they did not need anyone else getting their hands on it.

Basically, they all had a lot on their plates at the moment.

So Yao Fei had suggested they split up in order to expedite the process.

Oliver couldn’t help but feel now more than ever that Yao Fei was _distinctly_ interested in helping Oliver and Slade’s relationship, when the man had ‘casually’ paired them off together and assigned them to get the Mirakuru and take it back to the plane.  After all; if any of the men from the night before had set up there Slade could very easily eliminate them.

Sara and Anatoly went off to stake out the freighter and try to determine Ivo’s location while Shado and Yao Fei gathered information on Fyers' men.

For the first stretch of their journey to the sub, Oliver and Slade walked in a peaceful silence.  Quite often, Oliver found himself smiling stupidly at nothing.

“I told you early on not to trust anyone; avoiding attachment is always the best course of action in situations like these.  If you had listened it would’ve made all of this much easier on you.” Slade had a dumb smirk on his face. 

“Yeah, well, I think you should be glad I haven’t avoided attachment to _you_ ,” Oliver responded cheerily.

Slade chuckled.

“And it’s pretty obvious at this point you haven’t avoided attachment to me either,” Oliver added.

“Whatever you say, kid.”

Slade was smiling and so was Oliver, and he felt like such a _fucking sap_ for it, but he was _happy_.

Oliver grabbed Slade by the hand and they walked the rest of the way to the submarine, hands clasped tightly.

When they had gotten to the lagoon they found Fyers’ body was gone, most likely moved by his men, adding to their suspicions that some of them would still be loyal to him.  They managed to get the crate of Mirakuru without a problem, and headed back to the plane where they found no sign of anyone else.

With nothing else to do, Slade suggested they train.

They sparred well into the evening, and Oliver’s heart felt so light he thought he might float away.  A gentle rain began to fall around sunset and the pair had a quick meal over a dying fire before escaping inside the plane.

As soon as they made it inside, Slade crowded Oliver against the side of the plane.  Oliver’s back hit the wall with finite thump.  The rain was beating heavily against the side of the fuselage now, echoing around the plane.  Slade did nothing for a moment, just stood there in Oliver’s space breathing heavily.  Then Slade leaned forward, pressing his face into Oliver’s neck, their cheeks touching, and let out a sigh.

There was a slight hitch in Oliver’s breathing when the other man brought a hand up, placing it on the other side of Oliver’s face, holding them together.  Oliver tried to ignore the sting of tears that suddenly pressed at his eyes.  His good mood felt dampened as he remembered how he’d felt the night before.  _Slade had died._  

Oliver tried to control his breathing as the urge to cry became unbearable.  He reached up, wrapping his arms around Slade, hands gripping the fabric on his back.

Slade started to mouth along Oliver’s neck, placing gentle kisses and nipping lightly.  Oliver felt his already rapid heartbeat increase and he closed his eyes, just letting himself absorb the moment.  _Slade was here, he was alive._

Oliver felt his hands were shaking slightly, so he gripped at the fabric of Slade’s shirt more tightly and took in a shuddering breath.

“Oliver,” Slade said against his neck.  Oliver shivered as he placed another kiss below Oliver’s ear.  “I won’t let anyone take you away again; I won’t leave, I _promise_.”

At Slade’s words Oliver felt his already tenuous self-control slip and he pressed his face into Slade’s shoulder, letting the burning tears escape his eyelids.

Slade moved both his hands to Oliver’s back, rubbing gentle circles just below his shoulder blades.  He wasn’t sure how long they stood there, or how long he cried for but when the tears stopped coming some time later he felt relieved.  And _tired_.

“Better?” Slade asked.

“ _Mmm_ ,” Oliver groaned, not really wanting to speak, as he pressed his face into Slade’s neck.

Oliver felt more than heard the other man laugh lightly.  Slade reached a hand up and brushed Oliver’s hair to the side and then licked up the side of Oliver’s neck from his collarbone to his jaw, earning a gasp from Oliver.  The other man pulled back, placing both hands on the sides of Oliver’s face. 

When Oliver met Slade’s gaze he found he couldn’t look away.  Slade leaned forward and pried Oliver’s lips apart with his own, shoving his tongue in his mouth roughly.  Oliver whimpered and closed his eyes tightly, letting Slade push him back into the wall again. 

The kiss wasn’t gentle and Oliver almost felt like Slade was trying to devour him.  Moving his hands to Oliver’s waist, Slade gripped his hips with bruising force.  Oliver moved his right hand to tug at the short strands of hair on the back of Slade’s head and Slade growled, kissing him with more fervor.  Slade was licking at every inch of Oliver’s mouth his tongue could reach and almost seemed determined to shove his tongue down Oliver’s throat. 

A needy whine pushed its way out of Oliver’s chest when Slade pulled back a bit, licking at his tongue gently.  He could feel his hands were shaking again.  Slade pulled back completely, ending the kiss.  Oliver opened his eyes, noticing the other man was staring at him, despite the darkness he could feel the heaviness of Slade’s gaze.  Oliver made to look away but the other man grabbed him by the chin, pulling his face back towards him.

“What do you want, Oliver?” Slade whispered.

Oliver shivered at the question and felt his mouth go dry.  He didn’t know.  _But he did_.

He wanted whatever Slade would give him.

“You,” Oliver muttered, trying to look away again.

“ _Look at me_.”

Oliver shifted his gaze back to meet Slade’s own.

“You’ve got me, kid.”

Slade held his gaze, all the while pressing his lips softly to Oliver’s.  Once again he pushed his tongue into Oliver’s mouth and Oliver felt his already firm cock harden completely, pressing uncomfortably against zipper of his pants.  Slade pressed his body up against Oliver, pinning him to the wall.  Moving his mouth back to Oliver’s neck, Slade sucked gently at the flesh of his earlobe.  Oliver’s breathing started coming in soft pants and he unconsciously pressed his hips forward against the other man.  Slade stood resolute, holding him firmly against the wall.  Oliver just wanted him to _do something_.

“So goddamn eager,” Slade growled into his ear.

“ _Please_ ,” Oliver whined breathily.

In a flurry of movement Slade pulled Oliver from the wall and pushed him back through the plane.  Oliver felts his ass meet something solid behind him and knew Slade must have backed him up against one of the crates.  Slade made quick work of Oliver’s shirt and undershirt, removing them both and tossing them to the side carelessly.  He then put a hand on Oliver’s shoulder pushing him back, to lay on the top of the crate.  Slade’s hand slid down Oliver’s chest, past his navel and stopped at the waistband of his pants.

Oliver shivered and felt goose bumps erupt across the surface of his skin. Slade rubbed gently at a scar next to Oliver’s navel and Oliver bit back a groan.

“Gorgeous,” Slade muttered, pulling back reaching for Oliver’s legs.  He pulled them up one by one, moving down to his feet and removing Oliver’s boots and socks.  Then he reached for Oliver’s pants, undoing the button and zipper, before pulling them along with his boxers off completely and throwing them to the ground.  Oliver gasped in relief as his throbbing cock sprang free, curling against his stomach and already leaking precome.   

“ _Fucking gorgeous_ ,” Slade growled, leaning forward to lick at the underside of Oliver’s cock. 

Oliver moaned loudly, back bowing as he pressed his hips forward needing _more_ of Slade’s mouth on him.  Slade pressed his hips down firmly with his hands and licked him again, his tongue trailing from root to tip before he sucked at the head of Oliver’s cock.  Oliver gripped the back of Slade’s head as he continued to suck him off, Oliver’s moans becoming needier.

The warm, wet feeling of Slade’s mouth encompassing his cock was driving Oliver out of his mind and all he could think was how he wanted _more_.  He whined sharply when he felt the pressure building.

“ _Slade_ , I’m gonna..” Oliver moaned, but his words were cut off when the other man took him fully in his mouth and _swallowed_.  Oliver gasped and came into the heat of Slade’s throat.  Slade kept Oliver in his mouth through his orgasm before pulling off and licking away the residual come on Oliver’s dick.  Oliver bit back another moan.  Slade stood up, looking down at Oliver, his eyes dark.

“More?” he asked simply.

“ _Yes_ ,” Oliver gasped.

Slade started pulling off his clothes and Oliver watched, breathing heavily, heart pounding wildly.  When Slade finally stood before him in nothing but his underwear, quickly pulling them down and kicking them away, Oliver inhaled sharply.  He let his eyes wander to drink in the man before him.  Oliver felt his cock twitch as he took in the heady sight of Slade’s own cock, thick and erect and Oliver was suddenly overwhelmed by the desire to _taste_ but before he could ask, Slade had grabbed Oliver by the thighs, pulling so his ass was at the edge of the crate and pushing his legs apart.

This was completely unfamiliar territory for Oliver so when Slade leaned over again, licking and biting at the inside of his thighs as he made his way _up,_ Oliver felt a flutter of worry in his chest.  Any and all hesitancy was quickly dashed though when Slade licked carefully at his hole.  Oliver let out a shuddering breath at the sensation as the man continued licking and sucking. 

It was different but _fuck_ it felt nice, and it was _Slade_. 

Slade was licking him open, and Oliver whined knowing it meant the man was going to stretch him open and fuck him.  And Oliver was already certain he _really_ wanted that. 

As Slade continued to lick at Oliver’s hole, his tongue going deeper with each thrust Oliver couldn’t control the sounds he made any longer.  He was whimpering regularly, hands balled into fists, nails biting into his skin.  When Slade added a finger to the mix he practically screamed.  The burning stretch hurt but it also felt good and Oliver could feel his cock hardening again against his stomach with renewed interest.

“ _Slade_ ,” he groaned loudly.

Slade pulled his mouth away, keeping his finger in place, and kissed Oliver’s stomach.

“Yes, darling?” Slade asked cheekily.  If Oliver wasn’t of a single mind right now he would’ve commented on the pet name, but as it stood he was more concerned with being fucked…comfortably.

“Got anything that would work better as lube than spit?” he asked breathily.  Slade pulled his finger out of Oliver, laughing, and Oliver flinched at the burning sensation.  _Yeah, spit wasn’t gonna cut it._

Slade moved away from Oliver and started shuffling through one of the crates before moving back over to Oliver, a small container in his hands.  He popped open the lid and slicked up his fingers, reaching down and caressing the rim of Oliver’s hole.  Oliver threw back his head, gasping at the sensation.  Slade pushed a finger back inside Oliver, and he felt the sensation was much more appealing now.  It was still a foreign stretch, but there was less _burning_ this time.

Working his finger in and out, Slade took his time opening Oliver up, adding another finger, scissoring them gently.  Oliver groaned loudly, his cock now fully hard.  Before long Slade had added a third finger and Oliver started rocking his hips against the man’s hand wanting _more, more, more._

“Please,” Oliver gasped, “ _Please fuck me_.”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you, kid?” Slade growled, pushing his fingers into Oliver with more force.  “You wanna ride my cock, don’t you Oliver?” 

Oliver whimpered loudly.

“ _Yes, yes…please._ ”

Slade bent over and bit Oliver on the side of the neck lightly, fingers still working Oliver’s hole.

“I love the way you beg so sweetly,” Slade growled into his ear.  Oliver moaned again, fighting the urge to come right then and there.  Slade pulled his hand away and stood up, Oliver whining at the loss.  His hole felt empty and used and he just wanted Slade’s cock in him  _now_. 

Oliver watched with bated breath as Slade reached over, gathering more of the lube from the jar, and began slicking up his dick.  When Slade had lined himself up with Oliver’s hole, the blunt pressure of his cock _right there,_ Oliver felt all coherent thought leave his brain.

Slade started pushing into him and Oliver opened his mouth, gasping lightly at the _stretch_.  Slade worked himself into Oliver with shallow thrusts and when the man was fully seated inside him, balls pressing against Oliver’s ass, Oliver closed his eyes and tried to get used to the sensation.  It hurt but it was nice and he felt full, and _Slade was inside of him_ , and god it felt _so fucking good_.

After a few minutes of just letting the feeling become more familiar to him Oliver shifted his hips a bit letting out a whimper needing Slade to _move now_.

Pulling his cock out of Oliver and slamming back in roughly, Slade set a punishing pace.  But Oliver liked it and if anything he wanted the man to take him harder, his dick filling Oliver in a way the younger man never knew he needed.

When Slade pulled Oliver’s legs up and started pushing into him at a new angle Oliver felt a brand new sensation run through up his body.  Suddenly, with each thrust Oliver felt every nerve ending alight and it was like electricity was burning underneath his skin.

Slade was hitting home against his prostate with every snap of his hips.

“ _Oh God_ …” Oliver whined loudly, taking in the sounds of their skin slapping as Slade fucked him.

Oliver could feel his hard cock leaking precome steadily against his stomach and he needed Slade to touch him _soon_. 

As if the man could read his mind Slade reached out and took of hold of Oliver’s dick, jerking him in time with his thrusts.

His whole body was on fire and Oliver felt the pleasure building and building, until finally Slade thrust into him as he thumbed the head of Oliver’s cock and Oliver was coming all over Slade’s hand and his own stomach.  Slade growled and thrust into him with more fervor, movements becoming sloppy.

With a final firm thrust Slade moaned deeply and Oliver felt the warmth of his come filling his ass and he gasped because _fuck he really liked that_.

Oliver shuddered as the man pulled out of him, his hole feeling lose and empty.  Slade pulled Oliver up so he was sitting on the crate and grabbed him by the back of the neck, leaning in for a kiss.  Oliver groaned into the other man’s mouth as Slade licked at his tongue.

Slade pulled his mouth away and looked at Oliver.

“That what you wanted, kid?”

Oliver just laughed breathlessly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * translation: "No you will not!"  
> ** translation: "I will help my friends. You cannot stop me."  
> *** translation: "Children are stupid."
> 
> ya'll...I went and made myself cry writing that first half like a fucking idiot!! So embarrassing...also embarrassing: writing smut omg. This is the longest chapter since the first clocking in at about 8,446 words. dayum.
> 
> So the emotional bits of this chapter were brought to you by The Lumineers' album Cleopatra (WHITE LIE!!!!, long way from home, etc. that album has wrecked me) and the sexy bits by Massive Attack's album Mezzanine (Angel...like fuck is there a sexier song? the answer is no).
> 
> Part of me is like: this story is a train wreck you need to chill! but another part is like: this is completely self-indulgent you garbage can it doesn't matter!!
> 
> So yeah I hope you're enjoying this nonsense, thanks as always for reading!!
> 
> Up Next: Gotta start dragging in the unfortunate side effects of the Mirakuru, gotta get back to the plot...*sigh* Where's Ivo??? What are Fyers' men gonna do now??? STAY TUNED TO FIND OUT!


	8. The Nature of Chaos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sweats nervously* real sorry about the delay, friends!

Oliver really didn’t want to jump to conclusions…but he was pretty sure Slade was avoiding him. _Again_.

Which was an impossibly frustrating notion because he was so sure they had moved passed that;  with the whole dying/not-dying/confession-of-feelings/fucking-in-the-plane thing that happened between them Oliver was sure they had somewhat figured out whatever their relationship was, but _no_ , apparently he was wrong.

Ever since their night together Slade hadn’t interacted with him much, and okay, Oliver was willing to admit there hadn’t been a lot of _opportunities_ because once everyone else had returned to the plane the following day they had all been keeping themselves busy scouting Fyers’ men (who had all returned to their main camp and hadn’t left since) and Ivo and his men (who hadn’t been seen, though the freighter still remained in the bay).  Also, there had been a lot of talks amongst the group about strategy and where they should go from here, so there hadn’t been much free time for Slade to interact with Oliver but still something didn’t feel quite… _right_.

And there was no way in Hell Oliver was going to confront Slade about it.

Because they were stranded on an island under the constant threat of death and Oliver really needed to get his priorities straight.  He was conflicted about his feelings and he wanted to talk to Slade but he knew what he needed to focus on was _surviving_ at the moment.

Oliver let out a frustrated sigh and turned over in his bed roll, clearly he wouldn’t be getting much sleep tonight.  Opening his eyes, Oliver looked across the plane, not really seeing much but still looking in the direction of where Slade was sprawled, sleeping in his usual corner.

Not only did the man seem to be keeping a distance between them but Oliver had noticed he had been acting more reserved than usual…more calculating.  He didn’t seem interested in strategizing with the rest of the group and for the most part he just observed them all when they had their discussions.  It made Oliver uneasy.

 

* * *

 

_Another stifling breeze floated in through the open window and Oliver huffed, reaching up to wipe the sweat from his brow.  He brought his hand back down and once again picked up his pencil, scribbling an answer to the question on the bottom of the page.  He flipped to the next sheet to find it full of more questions but empty of any answers._

_Oliver let out a long winded sigh and got to work.  He had already been here for what felt like hours and practically all the other students had left having finished their exams, but no matter how many questions he answered there was always a new page to fill and it was driving him mad.  Frustrated beyond belief, Oliver’s instincts were telling him to give up; that this was pointless._

_But if he failed this test that would mean he’d get put on academic probation and that would just lead to him dropping out of school (again)._

_More than anything, Oliver didn’t want to face his parent’s disappointment when he told them that.  He was so sure before that he was going to turn things around and succeed this time, yet here he was nowhere near close to finishing the test and time was running out._

_Oliver groaned and put the pencil back down on the desk, using both of his hands to rub away the sweat on his face.  He couldn’t believe no one else in the classroom seemed affected by the heat it was unbearable…_

_Inhaling sharply, Oliver looked down and noticed all the words he had written on the page were smeared and incomprehensible._

**_No…no!_ **

_His heart pounded in his chest and he reached for the paper with shaking hands.  When his fingertips gripped at the edges, the paper slipped through his fingers dripping and oozing through his digits like melting wax.  And also like wax it burned at his flesh, searing away the skin.  Oliver jumped up from his seat and screamed but no sound escaped his lungs._

_Oliver pulled his burned hands to his chest and looked around the classroom.  Surely someone had to notice something wasn’t right._

_But the classroom was empty save for one man standing at the front._

_A blonde man._

_“Time’s up, Mr. Queen,” Fyers grinned._

Oliver jerked awake, breath coming in harsh pants.  At this point he had become quite accustomed to nightmares but nothing would ever prepare him for the jarring shift of reality as he was thrust back into a waking state.

A pair of strong arms wrapped around Oliver from behind and he tensed, but relaxed when Slade mumbled “S’just me,” in his ear. 

Oliver’s breathing eased a bit as he lay back against Slade.  One day he hoped he’d be able to talk to the other man about the terrible things he saw when he closed his eyes, because if anyone would understand it would be him. 

For now though, the silence would do.

 

* * *

 

Above Oliver, the sunlight filtered down through the trees warming his exposed skin.  The water cradled him as he floated slowly though it; eyes closed.  His ears being submerged meant the only thing he could hear was the calming echo of the water churning around him.  Oliver genuinely had no idea when the last time was he had felt this relaxed.

After another week of scouting different locations on the island, trying to find out as much as they could about Fyers’ men and Ivo they’d given up deciding the best strategy, for now, would be to wait.

The group did, however, burn the Mirakuru and the circuit board knowing no matter what happened to them, they didn’t want any of their enemies getting their hands on the weapons.

That morning, taking advantage of the temporary peace, they’d all gone to the lake to wash themselves.  Really, they all should have taken care of business quickly and left, in order to minimize the risk of being attacked.  But instead they lingered, spending hours at the lake; Shado and Sara engaging in a splash war, Slade pulling Oliver aside and helping him shave his beard with the assistance of a knife and some soapweed; Yao Fei swimming; and Anatoly laying beside the water just enjoying the sun.

 _Honestly_ , they all deserved a bit of fun.

Oliver had been floating around in the water for a while now, but he didn’t have it in him to get out.  The water was soothing and the feeling of being carefree was a rarity at this point, so…

Oliver jolted, limbs flying out and body flinching forward, when water splashed over his face and chest.  He was now standing upright, water coming up just below his chest, rubbing at his stinging eyes.

“What the fuck…” he groaned.  Did Sara and Shado _really_ need to drag him into this?

But when he opened his eyes he didn’t see Sara or Shado, in fact he didn’t see anyone other than Slade standing there with a grin on his face.  Oliver furrowed his brow and tried to look disapproving.

“Was that _necessary_?” he huffed.

Slade snorted.

“No, but it was fun.”

Oliver rolled his eyes.

“Where’d everyone go?” he asked as Slade waded towards him.

“They went back to the plane,” Slade said, wrapping his arms around Oliver’s back and pulling him in close.

“Well that’s… _convenient_ ,” he hummed.

“It is.” 

Slade was just looking at him, expression soft.  Oliver felt a flutter in his chest and he brought his hands up to Slade’s chest, placing them there so he could feel the other man’s heart.  There were a million things Oliver wanted to say but at the moment no words seemed right so instead he leaned forward and kissed Slade on the cheek.

With a groan, Slade captured his mouth with his own, pressing his lips firmly against Oliver’s.  Sighing into the kiss, Oliver closed his eyes.  Slade placed a hand at the back of Oliver’s head, gripping at his hair lightly while he continued to press his lips softly to Oliver’s own.  Slade nipped gently at Oliver’s lower lip and then pulled back from the kiss.

“What about Shado?” Slade asked flatly.

Oliver pushed down the wave of irritation rising in his chest.   _Way to ruin the moment_.

“Are you telling me you haven’t figured out by now that I’m not interested in her in that way?”

The last thing Oliver wanted was another argument with the man but really, Oliver thought he’d been quite honest about his feelings as opposed to Slade, who hadn’t really said much about anything.

“You _did_ kiss her, kid.”

“Yeah and I _fucked_ you!”

Oliver tried pushing himself away from Slade, but the other man’s hold on him was like being trapped in a cage again: any attempts to break free were useless.

“That doesn’t mean you don’t care for her,” Slade growled.

“You’re right I do care about her,” Oliver said, digging his fingers into Slade’s shoulders just wanting the man to _let go_ , “and I care about Yao Fei, and Sara, and Anatoly!

But I’m pretty sure the only person I said I _loved_ was you, or did you forget that already?”

He gave up trying to push Slade away and let his arms fall to the side.  Oliver could feel a blush rising on his cheeks.  The only thing more embarrassing than confessing your feelings to someone?  _Having to remind them of it_.

“’Course I remember, kid,” Slade said lowly, leaning forward and placing a kiss on the underside of Oliver’s jaw.

Oliver let out a frustrated sigh.  As always there they were: talking but saying absolutely nothing.

“Stop being an asshole, you don’t get to treat me like that just because you made up some story in your head that I have ‘feelings’ for someone else.  _Okay_?”

“Deal,” Slade muttered, still kissing at Oliver’s neck.  And then, a few seconds later: “I’m sorry, Oliver.”

“’S’fine,” Oliver slurred, hitching in a breath as Slade started licking just below his earlobe. 

When Slade reached between them, down past the waistband of Oliver’s boxer shorts, and grabbed his cock, Oliver sighed loudly.  He had been half-hard up until now but as Slade stroked his cock Oliver became fully erect.

He leaned forward and rested his forehead against Slade’s shoulder, breathing in soft, shallow pants as pleasure rose and fell in his body likes waves.  Oliver knew they couldn’t keep doing this; getting caught up in each other when there was a very real and very dangerous world around them, but at the moment…

The only thing he knew was how good Slade’s hand on him felt and how much he _needed_ this.

Oliver screwed his eyes shut tight and whined sharply, breathing becoming more ragged, when Slade thumbed over the head of his cock, rubbing at the slit and the precome beading there.

Slade bit lightly at the muscles on Oliver’s neck while he reached his other hand between them.  Oliver gasped when the other man pulled his own cock out and took the both of them in one large palm.

Against him Slade felt warm and smooth, and despite the water surrounding them the drag of skin on skin was a tad uncomfortable, but Oliver didn’t mind.

Oliver thrust his hips as Slade jerked them off together, the feeling so surprisingly intimate and heady and _good_ that Oliver felt his pleasure building fast and hot beneath his skin.  Slade panted and groaned against the skin of his neck, and Oliver chanted Slade’s name over and over like a prayer.

When Oliver came between them, moaning long and loud, Slade gripped him tighter, thrusting against the younger man’s stomach until he found release.

After, Slade held on to him, placing soft kisses wherever his mouth could reach.

“This is a bad idea,” Oliver sighed.  He felt Slade stiffen against him.

“Not…not _us_ , I mean,” Oliver swallowed, “I just mean that with everything going on, we need to focus on not dying and not whatever _this_ is.”

“I know, kid.  It’s why I avoided you in the first place.”

Well, yeah, _that made sense_.  Oliver really should’ve put that together himself.

“We’re both _really_ stupid,” Oliver laughed lightly.

Slade hummed in agreement.  They both lapsed into silence.

“I meant what I said, Oliver.”

“Hm?”

“I won’t let _anyone_ hurt you again.”

Oliver tried to ignore the chill he felt go down his spine at those words.  They should have been a comfort, but instead Oliver found himself thinking of Slade slaughtering Ivo’s men, throwing them around like rag dolls, and it made him nervous.

But that was a ridiculous notion; after all, if there was one person on this island he didn’t need to be afraid of it was Slade.

 

* * *

 

“Sooo…now what?” Sara asked.

It was well after nightfall and the six of them were lounging about inside the fuselage.  Yao Fei and Shado had been making arrows, Sara was picking at the remains of her dinner, Slade was whittling away at a piece of wood while Oliver watched, and Anatoly had been drifting in and out of sleep propped up against the side of the plane.

“Now, we wait,” Yao Fei said, not looking up from the arrowhead he was intently sharpening.

“I don’t think waiting any longer is going to improve our situation,” Sara argued.

“He’s right,” Anatoly interrupted, fully awake now and gesturing at Yao Fei.  “ _Waiting?_ It’s our best option.  When you are the weakest man, you wait for the stronger men to weaken each other before you make your move.”

“Waiting just makes us sitting ducks,” Shado said bluntly.

“I agree, we need to take action, soon,” Slade said.

“We will all be killed!” Yao Fei had abandoned the arrows and was glaring at Slade.

Oliver really couldn’t blame the man for getting upset.  His first priority would always be Shado so it made sense for him to want to take the less risky course of action.  And if Oliver were being honest he didn’t think an attack would help them at all right now.

“Yao Fei is right…” Oliver said, joining the conversation.  “We don’t have the manpower or the means to pose any sort of threat to Fyers’ men or Ivo and his men.  It would be stupid to try anything right now.”

“Ivo won’t stop until he gets what he wants,” Sara muttered.  “I know him better than anyone and he _will_ torture and kill all of us if we don’t do something to stop him.”

Sara had focused the intensity of her gaze on Oliver and he felt his stomach churn a bit.  He knew she wasn’t exaggerating but they really didn’t have any sort of advantage…not against a man with an army, a freighter, and a bunch of weapons.  Slade spoke again, and Oliver looked away from Sara.

“That may be true, but going after him right now won’t do us any good.”

“Then what should we do?” Shado asked curiously.

“Well, we know of at least three of Fyers’ camps that are sitting empty.  I propose we infiltrate and gather up as much weapons and supplies as we can.  Maybe we’ll find something that can help us take out Ivo.”

Slade flashed a cocky grin at Shado and she matched it with one of her own.  As the others around him tenuously agreed to Slade’s plan, Oliver found himself unable to voice any sort of agreement.  It was a good idea, and not particularly dangerous, but ever since the huge fuck up that was his own plan to pit Fyers and Ivo against each other Oliver wanted nothing more than to just stay in the plane and hide.  And yes, he was aware that was childish and impractical but the thought of entering the enemies territory made his already anxious mind work overtime, showing his all sorts of potential negative outcomes. 

He couldn’t lose any of his friends again.  He couldn’t lose Slade again.

 

* * *

 

Just before dawn Oliver, Slade, Sara, Shado and Yao Fei left the fuselage to head for the closest of the abandoned camps.  Anatoly had insisted that someone should stay behind to watch the plane so he had volunteered himself for that position.  The trek only took them a few hours and when they made it they fanned out at Slade’s instruction to clear the area.

Oliver walked through the rows of empty tents but found nothing.  The place was practically a ghost town and Oliver took note of the crates scattered throughout the camp, left open and empty.  The men had obviously cleared out and taken what they could with them.

The silence was broken by a shout in the distance.  Oliver broke into a run and headed towards the noise.  When he arrived at a small clearing in the middle of the camp Oliver saw Slade standing over a man on his knees, the blade of his sword pressed against the man’s throat. 

“P-Please, I don’t want any trouble!” the man who was dressed in all black, like Fyers’ men, begged.

Slade laughed, and from the way the other man visibly flinched, he must have pressed his sword harder against the man’s throat.  Yao Fei appeared across the clearing and Oliver felt Sara and Shado come up beside him.  Slade paid none of them any mind as he continued to focus on the man at his feet.

“What...?” Sara asked in a hushed voice.

Oliver just shook his head slightly and continued to watch the scene before him.

“What are your men planning now?  Who has taken over command?”  Slade shouted, eyes wide as he stared, unblinking, at the man on the ground.

The soldier inhaled sharply against the press of the sword at his neck and looked up at the sky.

“I don’t know anything, listen…you have to _listen_ ; everything, it’s changed, okay?”  The man screwed his eyes shut and panted loudly, sweat beading near his temples.

“ _Elaborate_ ,” Slade growled, reaching forward and using his free hand to grab roughly at the man’s collar, holding him still against his sword.

“Fyers,” the man wheezed, “Once he died…everyone, th-they started arguing.  Some men wanted to leave, some wanted to complete the mission.  We all moved to base camp and sent a message to the benefactor.”

The man stopped speaking and gasped sharply.  Oliver could see a thin rivulet of blood run down his neck from where the sword had pierced his skin.  As Slade gripped the man harder he continued to speak.

“We didn’t…we didn’t hear back!  Not for a while anyways.  B-But we finally got a response: ‘Mission failed: abort.’  Everyone was ready to leave but then one of the guys, Richards is what he’s called, he started rallying the troops…wanted to continue and win back the benefactors favor.”

The man let out an exasperated laugh, despite the fact that he was clearly not amused and started talking again when he saw all he’d earned from Slade was a displeased frown.

“The man’s fucking crazy, alright?  We already lost the gig there’s no way we’re gettin' paid now so we might as well leave.  I can- I can help you guys outta here, now that there’s no mission we don’t need to fight, oka-”

With a short slash of his blade, Slade opened the other man’s throat, cutting off his words.  Slade took a step back letting the man fall forward into the dirt as blood spurted forward out of the man’s neck.

“ _Fuck_!” Sara gasped, bringing her hand to her mouth and turning away.  Shado moved over to her and put her hands on her shoulders, whispering something to her that Oliver could not hear.

Oliver couldn’t look away from the man on the ground.

“Why would you do that!?”  Oliver heard Sara shout from somewhere off to his right. 

“It was necessary.”

“No it wasn’t!  He said he would help us, he said-”

“What he was spewing was a load of shit.  Even if what he said about their benefactor abandoning them was true, there’s no way we could’ve trusted him to help us.”

“ _You don’t know that_!”

“And you think you know better?”  Slade’s voice had become extremely low and tense. 

Oliver looked up to the man and saw he was standing close to Sara, staring at her with the same intensity he had moments before when the soldier was on his knees at the end of his blade. 

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t, it doesn’t matter but we could’ve at least _tried_ to-”

“It does matter.  Were you their prisoner for over a year?  Did you suffer everyday at their hands?  Because I did.  And Oliver did as well.  _That should matter to you_.”

Slade was now inches from Sara’s face.  Oliver wanted to intervene but he couldn’t move or speak…it was hard enough trying to breathe.

The moment ended when Sara rolled her eyes and stepped away from Slade, muttering something unintelligible under her breath.  Slade watched her for a moment but then looked away and met Oliver’s gaze.  He walked over and put a hand on Oliver’s shoulder.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Fine...I’m fine,” Oliver responded.  He swallowed nervously and looked away.

“You don’t seem fine, kid.”

Oliver opened his mouth but no words came out.  After a beat Slade squeezed his shoulder and then moved away.

“This has been a bust; we should head back to camp.”

It took a moment for Oliver to get his legs to comply but soon, after Slade walked away, he followed.  Oliver’s mind played everything that had happened over and over in his head.  He couldn’t stop picturing the man bleeding out on the ground; he couldn’t stop picturing the man he had done the same thing to in the air traffic control tower not so long ago.

And he couldn’t stop thinking about how Slade had looked at Sara, how in that moment he had been so sure Slade was going to cut open her throat as well, and how Oliver had felt absolutely powerless to stop it.

 

* * *

 

The walk back to the fuselage had been filled with silence.  When they returned Slade left again with the excuse that he was going to hunt.  Yao Fei had joined him and Oliver thought it was less because he actually wanted to help and more that he wanted to keep an eye on Slade.

Oliver grabbed the bow Yao Fei had made for him and walked outside of the plane, hoping to release some of his nervous energy through practicing his shooting.  After missing far too many shots at the target that had been set up across the clearing Oliver frowned, lowering his bow, and turned away.

Shado and Sara stood not ten feet away, watching him.

“Ugh,” Oliver groaned aloud, “What?”

He avoided looking at them by rubbing at his eyes.

“We want to talk to you,” Sara stated simply.

 _What a surprise!_  

“Have you noticed Slade acting differently since he came back?” Shado asked.

Oliver laughed despite not actually finding anything humorous.  He opened his mouth but closed it again.  His instant reaction had been to say _no, of course not, why would Slade be any different?_ but something about that answer felt…false.

Slade’s display of violence earlier, despite shocking the group, wasn’t exactly _new_ behavior.  In fact, it was par for the course.  Oliver himself had even killed a few times at this point, and would probably have to do it again.

It wasn’t so much the violence itself but the rage behind it.  That was…that was new.  Oliver had seen Slade mad before but he never knew the man could be capable of such anger.  Never before did Oliver think Slade would hurt him or his friends, but after his argument with Sara, Oliver wasn’t so sure anymore.

Everything that had happened since Slade came back from the dead was building up inside of Oliver’s head, and even the small things that he’d been ignoring (like when he’d accused Oliver of having feelings for Shado, or his withdrawn behavior) were starting to feel like huge, glaring warning signs.

“No, apart from the obvious he’s been the same as always,” Oliver answered, gathering up the bow and arrows, wanting to go back to the plane and away from the feeling of uncertainty this conversation was bringing him.

But then, he couldn’t quite find it in himself not to ask.

“ _Why_?”

“No reason,” Shado answered nonchalantly. 

“You wouldn’t ask that unless _you_ thought he was acting differently.” 

“ _Oliver_ , it’s nothing…really.  Sara just mentioned there could be potential negative side effects to the Mirakuru so I wanted to make sure everything was fine with you two.”

Oliver looked over at Sara but she was looking off in the distance.

“There’s no use in keeping secrets here, they’re likely to get us killed.”

With a sigh, Sara looked to Oliver, her brow furrowed and her expression tense.

“It’s the Mirakuru…while I was with Ivo I helped him research it.  The records from back then, when they first used it during the war were lacking with any sort of useful information because the experiment was highly classified.

From what I could gather, though, even when the serum worked and didn’t kill the host: there were _always_ side effects.”

Sara stopped talking and watched him, most likely trying to gauge his reaction.

“Okayyyy…but what kind of side effects?”

“When they didn't present as physical deformities they were mental; it affected their state of mind.”

Oliver let out a frustrated sigh.

“You’re not exactly being specific and I-”

“Every single person injected with it went mad.  They started hallucinating; talking to people who weren’t there.  They would become extremely driven towards a cause that their minds would create for them, so much so that they would _kill_ anyone who got in their way.

Each of them became so violent and aggressive that there was no reasoning with them.  The scientists working on the project theorized that it was because over time the serum degrades the frontal lobe of the brain.”

Sara was just looking at him again, scrutinizing him, and Oliver felt overwhelmed trying to absorb all the new information.

“Thank you, _Doctor Sara_ , but I don’t think-”

“This isn’t a joke, Oliver!  With that sort of brain damage Slade won’t be in control anymore, and now he’s capable of healing from almost any injury and killing all of us in the blink of an eye.  I didn’t want to worry you but it’s not something we can ignore any longer.”

“But if…if the Mirakuru heals him wouldn’t it heal the brain damage?”

Oliver was starting to feel helpless.  If everything Sara was telling him was true than Slade was pretty much dying all over again.  Sara shook her head.

“No, I’m sorry, but from what the reports indicated the serum would heal the damaged brain but it simultaneously was the cause of the degradation so, over time, it would cause enough damage that even it couldn’t regenerate the brain cells anymore.”

Looking at the ground Oliver felt his chest constrict and a war between despair and anger was playing itself out in his head.

“So what you’re saying is Slade is going to go batshit and try to kill everyone?” he asked bitterly.

Sara opened her mouth as if to speak but he cut her off.

“Why did you even suggest giving it to him if you _knew_ this would happen?”

“Slade might be fine; I just wanted you to know the risks, Oliver. I-”

“But they’re not risks!” Oliver yelled.  “You said it yourself it happened to _every_ person who got the serum! 

That’s not a risk, that’s a _certainty_.” 

“Ivo has a cure.”

“ _What_?” Oliver hissed. 

He really felt Sara could have led with that, thanks to her he was on an extremely irritating roller coaster the way this conversation was fucking with his emotions.

“It’s not exactly going to be easy to get, he keeps it in a safe in his office.  But if it becomes necessary the option is there.”

Oliver sighed. 

_They were screwed._

 

* * *

 

Well into the night, after the others had gone to sleep, Oliver sat outside the plane, waiting.

Yao Fei had returned from hunting after dark, but Slade wasn’t with him.  He said he had lost track of him in the woods and he believed Slade had slipped his watch on purpose.  Oliver’s already growing nervousness about this whole situation with Slade was really starting to make him feel sick so he didn’t even try to sleep.

No, he was going to wait until Slade got back.  And then he was going to demand answers.

But he sat there for hours and there was no sign of Slade.

Oliver started when he heard movement from the opening in the plane.  He turned and saw Sara coming out of the fuselage, one of the radio’s that Ivo’s men carried in her hands.  She gestured for Oliver to follow her, and he did, walking across the clearing and into the woods.  The radio crackled to life, Ivo’s voice coming out of the device.

“ _Sara...Sara please if you’re there I need you to listen to me_.”

“He’s trying to get me to come back,” Sara said to Oliver.

“ _You and I…we’re so much alike.  After all the work we did we can finally achieve our goals, Sara.  We can save humanity.”_

“He made me help him torture people, all so he could ‘save humanity’.  I didn’t want to do it but…he would’ve hurt me if I didn’t”. 

Sara was looking at Oliver and he could see it in her eyes that she was pleading with him; she wanted forgiveness.

“You did what you had to in order to survive,” Oliver whispered, “I know it’s not easy…I’ve had to hurt people too.”

Sara lifted the radio to her face and pressed the button on the side.

“Anthony…go fuck yourself,” Sara smiled wryly at Oliver he felt a huge grin stretch across his face.

“ _Now listen here, you little-_ ”

Sara switched off the radio and started to head back towards the plane, Oliver in tow.  Before they got out of the woods, though, they came across Anatoly.

“I thought you two had been kidnapped!  You weren’t kidnapped were you?”

“No, we weren’t, but thanks for the concern,” Oliver said, chuckling softly.

“Let’s go back to the plane.  We can start a fire and wait for our friend’s return, yes?”

Anatoly slapped his hand against Oliver’s shoulder and left it there, guiding him out of the woods.

“That sounds nice,” Sara said, following behind them.

Before they made it to the clearing, two men, one Sara identified as the captain of the freighter and another crew member, emerged from the trees armed with rifles.

“I knew I could find you,” the captain said, looking at Sara.  He switched his gaze over to take in Oliver and Anatoly.  “You’re all going to come with us.”

The other crew member stepped forward, while the captain pointed his gun at Sara.  Oliver looked over to Anatoly and the two of them locked eyes.  Anatoly nodded his head ever so slightly before looking at the crew member approaching Oliver and then turning back to stare at the captain.  Oliver understood. 

As the crew member got close, Oliver raised his hands in surrender.

“That won’t be happening, _Мудак_ * _,_ ” Anatoly smiled and at his words both Oliver and himself sprung into motion.

Oliver landed a solid punch into the gut of the crew member and the man doubled over, wheezing.  Anatoly rushed the captain, knocking away his rifle just as a shot rang out of it, and punched the man squarely across the face.  The captain dropped the guy and fell to his knees, his hands cradling his head.

But a few seconds later, Anatoly fell to the ground as well.  Sara rushed forward and Oliver could see the man was gripping at his side, a dark red stain expanding across his shirt.

“ _Anatoly_ -” Oliver began to move forward but stopped short when he felt a piercing pain in his left thigh.  He looked down to see the other crew member had recovered enough to stab him in the side of the leg, just above the knee with a large blade.

Reaching for the knife, Oliver wrestled the other man’s hand away, pulling the blade from his flesh.  When blood started to seep from the wound in currents Oliver groaned and fell to his knees.  _Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea_. 

Oliver’s head started to swim and he looked over to Anatoly and Sara, who was applying pressure to the man’s bullet wound.  Sara looked over at Oliver desperately before her gaze moved over to the side, her eyes going wide.  Oliver wondered vaguely if the crew member was going to kill him now. 

But no attack came, and the next thing Oliver was aware of was the crew member’s head rolling past him to land somewhere in the space between him and Sara and Anatoly.  A wave of nausea pulled at Oliver’s stomach and big, fuzzy, dark blotches began to overtake his field of vision.

The last thing he saw before he passed out entirely was Slade punching his fist into the chest of the captain, caving in the man’s ribs, and leaving a large gaping and bloodied hole.

 

* * *

 

Oliver regained consciousness to the sound of yelling voices echoing through the fuselage 

“You can’t just _attack_ them, as soon as you get close to the boat they’ll shoot you dead in the water, they patrol the deck for a reason!”

“I don’t give a damn!  They’re a threat, and I’m not willing to allow that threat any longer.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t been gone you could’ve helped us…you could’ve helped Oliver,” Sara muttered.

“ _Don’t you dare insinuate that this is somehow my fault_!” Slade hissed.

Oliver groaned out loud, unable to ignore the throbbing pain in his leg any longer.  There was the sound of movement and then someone was gripping his shoulder _too tightly_. 

“Try not to move around too much, kid, you need to let the wound close properly.”

_Slade._

“Yeah, yeah, I know…” Oliver groaned, voiced sounding strained to his own ears.  He cracked an eye open and looked up warily at Slade.  “You’re hurting my arm.”

“Sorry, kid.”  Slade moved his hand away but stayed close.

“How’s Anatoly?”

“He’s fine, the bullet missed any organs and he’s resting.”

“That’s good,” Oliver sighed, closing his eyes and breathing deeply for a moment before opening them again.  “You can’t be serious about trying to attack the freighter…”

“’Course I am, Sara was right Ivo isn’t going to stop until we’re all dead.”

“At the very least, we should come up with a plan.”

Slade looked away, irritation written across his features, but he nodded his head in agreement.

“Alright then, we’ll come up with a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (* translation: asshole)
> 
> *ominous music can be heard in the distance*
> 
> was this a good chapter? i honestly don't know...
> 
> SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG. I went out of town for like 4/5 days and then work kicked my ass for a while there, and not writing for all that time just led to some horrible writer's block :( 
> 
> But I think I got my groove back so to speak and we're getting down to the wire here so! I'm hoping to get the next chapter out very very soon (like less than a week soon). And after that it's just one more chapter to wrap things up and an epilogue of sorts to complete the story! I've already got something else in the works for when I finish this and I'm pretty jazzed about it ;)
> 
> UP NEXT: a very action heavy chapter dear readers!
> 
> and as usual: thanks for reading!!! xoxo


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